


The Making Of

by daydreamtofiction



Series: Glass [5]
Category: Real Person Fiction, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Actors, BBC, Celebrities, F/M, Love, POV First Person, RPF, Real Life, Romance, Sherlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:22:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 47,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26618899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamtofiction/pseuds/daydreamtofiction
Summary: When a chance meeting leads to Adrian, a struggling actress, landing herself a role in the new BBC adaptation of Sherlock Holmes, no one could have predicted how much her life was going to change.Author's Note in chapter 1 for more details.
Relationships: Benedict Cumberbatch/Original Character(s), Benedict Cumberbatch/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Glass [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545352
Comments: 14
Kudos: 189





	1. Author's Note

Author's Note

This story is inspired by 'The Making Of'; a oneshot from the 'Glass: Reader Requests' series on my page. It follows the actors behind the scenes of BBC's Sherlock, including an original character who _plays_ the original character from my Sherlock fanfiction. I know, it's all very meta, I'm sorry. Since posting that oneshot, I've received an abundance of request both here and on other Fanfiction platforms to turn it into its own series. So here it is!

I've never written a real person fic before, so I feel the need to mention that this story is 100% not intended to disrespect the people I'm writing about. And while I always try to keep my characters as true to real life as possible, I hope it can be kept in mind that they are just that - characters. And this is a fictional world and timeline that I've created. It may get wild, silly and maybe inaccurate at times. But this is just for fun, and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

Thank you so much to everyone who asked me to make this series. I truly hope you enjoy it. 


	2. Home

LA 2009

For many, Los Angeles is the place where dreams are chased; where struggling actors wait tables with headshots in their bags, where singers play their music on the walk of fame and hand out free CD's. It's the home of celebrities, of world-famous studios and notoriously beautiful people. But for me, it was an escape.

I first travelled there in 2005 after landing a one-off part in a crime drama. I filmed my episode and returned home to London - back to auditions and casting calls, modelling jobs and small speaking roles on TV shows. Months went by before my agent called, telling me they wanted me back.

'Who wants me back?' I'd said.

'Criminal Minds,' she replied.

'Why? Was there a problem with my-'

'No, no. They want to make your character permanent. They want to write you back into the next season as part of the main cast.'

By 2006, I'd moved there. I hugged my two younger sisters at the airport, told them if they ever needed me, I'd be on the first plane home. Then I boarded my flight, with everything I owned inside a single carry-on bag. In my three years on the show, I'd made friends, gained fans, (perfected my American accent), and fallen in love with my co-star. I was comfortable. But the comfort became stagnant, restless and suffocating. I missed the rain, I missed my sisters, and I missed feeling passionate about what I did. Then it happened. The thing I never thought would happen.

'This relationship isn't working, is it...'

'No, I replied. 'I don't think it is.'

And just like that, everything familiar to me had vanished, ending abruptly and without warning. Suddenly I was alone, in a city that wasn't mine, acting with an accent that wasn't mine, doing a job that no longer felt like mine.

But it was as if the universe knew; sending an opportunity my way when I needed it most. A film. An intense, challenging role that Carys, the writer, said she wrote specifically with me in mind. I'd never done a film before, asking her over and over again if she was sure she wanted to cast a 'nobody' as her leading lady. She told me to shut up and asked again if I wanted the part.

The thing about soulmates is that they're not always romantic. A soulmate can be a lover, a kindred spirit, or a best friend. Matt was, without a doubt, my soulmate. There was an invisible tether around my waist, the other end connected firmly to him. It had always been that way, and I was sure it always would be. Realising that our bond wasn't supposed to be romantic was the hardest thing we'd ever had to admit. We loved each other deeply and unconditionally, but it became apparent that we weren't moving forward; we couldn't see ourselves getting married, couldn't see ourselves with children, after three years we didn't even live together. We were a train standing still on a track, happy and content, but with no destination.

My last memory of those three years in LA was him, waving me off and pulling goofy faces to try and make me laugh as I walked into the airport. I was going to miss him, but I was so glad to be going home.

London 2009

Stepping off the plane into the mild, English spring was a welcomed feeling. But the double-takes as I walked through the airport was something I didn't think I'd ever get used to. People were looking at me, then looking away, then looking back at me again, as if they knew me but couldn't quite put their finger on how.

In the US, I'd grown used to being asked for a photo in a coffee shop, or having my character's name called out to me as I jogged down the street. A recurring role in a TV show elicited attention – online fan pages, articles and interviews, pictures taken of me from across the road as I tried to eat my lunch. But the UK was different. As an actor, I never really made a mark in Britain. I was almost completely anonymous. And I rather liked it that way.

I saw my sister waiting for me in the distance. We grinned to each other as I weaved through the crowds towards her, dropping my bags and pulling her into a hug. Rowan was the middle child, yet she had somehow managed to avoid every cliché and stereotype that came with it. While our younger sister Éna and I had our demons, Rowan had always been the light.

'How was your flight?' she asked as she linked my arm.

'Good. Fucking long, though. Remind me to never complain about connecting flights ever again.'

As we walked through the airport, the double-takes began again. The classic British reservation meant that no one ever approached me, instead they just stared as I walked by. It was something that never got old for Rowan who, at the age of 20, found the whole thing hilarious.

'They're looking at you,' she murmured.

'Probably because I look like shit.'

'Maybe they're looking at me. They might be fans of my music.'

I snorted.

She elbowed me in the side. 'What!? Did I tell you I played a gig last week and the place was packed?'

'I was only joking. Of course it was packed, you're brilliant.' I hoisted my bag back onto my shoulder. 'How's Éna?'

'Classic fifteen-year-old. She's excited to see you though.'

'Good.'

'She loves telling everyone in school that you're this big actress.'

'Hm, but she doesn't mention anything about her other sister being a musician? Strange.' I gave a sarcastic smirk.

She elbowed me again.

'Is she eating?' I asked.

'Yeah, she's doing well. You're probably not even going to recognise her.'

The last time I saw my youngest sister, I'd taken a last minute flight home after a panicked call from Rowan telling me she'd been taken to hospital. Éna was good at hiding it, no one knowing just how bad things had got until her body began to shut down. I felt guilty for not being there. I was the eldest, the guardian, and instead of taking care of my sister, I'd been living it up in Hollywood.

I wondered if, subconsciously, that was one of the reasons I'd decided to come home.

*

We got back to the flat by early evening. It was small and cramped, on the high floor of a tower block in the city centre. I'd been paying the rent, contributing to bills and food costs, anything I could do to make sure they were okay. The had only been 16 and 12 when I left, and leaving them behind had been the hardest thing I had ever done.

I sighed with relief as I wrapped my arms around Éna. She looked healthy; bubbly and full of energy as she gushed about how happy she was to have me back permanently. She led me through to the living room, sitting me down and quizzing me about my film.

'Is anyone famous in it?'

'Yeah, me,' I joked.

'No, I mean really famous.'

'Well, last time I spoke to Carys she said they were trying to get James McAvoy.'

She gasped. 'Mr Tumnus!?'

I rolled my eyes.

My phone began to ring. I rummaged through my bag and pulled it out, stepping into the narrow hallway to answer it.

'Hello?'

'Adrian?'

'Yes...'

'It's Chris.'

'Oh! Bloody hell, Christine, I didn't recognise your voice.'

I wasn't sure how I hadn't known it was her. Christine was my agent; a harsh-looking woman with short hair and pointed features. She smelled of cigarettes and Estée Lauder, always wore grey. Her proper, Chelsea accent was coated in a deep, distinctive husky voice. She sounded like Joanna Lumley, luxurious and terrifying all at once.

'Listen, I just got your account back from the agency in America,' she said. 'You've been asked to attend an event tonight. Did you know about it?'

'No. No one told me anything. What's it for?'

'A networking thing for the BBC.'

'Why the fuck have I been invited to _that?'_

'Says here it was Carys Lennon.'

I covered my face with my hand and grumbled before looking down at my unpacked bags on the floor.

'Why are you huffing and puffing?' asked Christine.

'Because if it was Carys, that means I have to go.'

*

A man opened the taxi door for me. I stepped out to a street packed with paparazzi, squinting as the cameras flashed, even though they weren't flashing for me. Christine took me by the arm and walked us inside as other guests posed for pictures at the entrance.

Rowan and Éna had helped get me dressed. They'd fished through my bags, suggesting an array of dresses and shoes. I settled on a fitted suit, the jacket tapered at the waist over a low-cut top.

'So, did you ask them to kill you off?' Christine asked as we walked into the building together.

We each took a glass of champagne, my heels clicking against the marble floor as we walked off to stand at the side.

'I told them I took a role in a film and asked if they could write me out of the show for a little while.'

'And they killed you off? Bloody savage.' She pulled out her mobile phone. 'I'll get on the phone to the agency in LA. They should've fought harder for you.'

'No, Chris, it's fine. Honestly, it's fine. It's all filmed and edited and ready to be aired. There's nothing that can be done now. Besides, I'm excited to put my all into this new project.'

'Oh yeah, this film...'

She had reservations about my choice to accept the new role, attempting to talk me out of it numerous times.

'Yes. _'This film''_ I mocked. 'Carys Lennon wrote it. I sent you the script, did you read it?'

'I read it.' She nodded in reluctant approval.

'There you go. How could I say no to a part like that?'

'Because it's a slow burning independent film that'll probably be lucky to get into a festival, let alone a cinema.'

'I don't care about that. I'm excited about it. I haven't felt like this about what I do in so long.'

'Mm.' She gave a cynical glare from the corner of her eye as she pulled her cigarettes from her bag. 'Be back in a minute.'

I rolled my eyes and looked around the room bustling with industry people. I searched desperately for someone I knew, making my way slowly through the crowds and sipping champagne as I went. I was surrounded by familiar faces; actors, presenters, directors, producers, and none of them had a clue who I was. I liked being anonymous, but there was something about this place that made me wish, just a little bit, that I wasn't.

Suddenly, I heard someone shouting my name. I turned to see Carys hurrying towards me and almost melted with relief. She had been a friend since University. Even back then, we always talked about how one day she'd write a film and I'd star in it. We'd joke about how we'd both win Oscars for it, me - best actress, and her - best original screenplay. We'd stand on the couch in our student flat holding bottles of deodorant and pretend to give our acceptance speeches. Now the film was coming true. The Oscars, however, were still a distant dream.

'So glad you could come!' she said. 'I wanted to introduce you to some people.'

Carys had been working as a writer in the industry since we graduated. She dragged me around the room, introducing me to people as her 'leading lady', networking and socialising as if the future of our film depended on it. I smiled politely, answered the barrage of questions about my career, my training, if I had any other projects lined up. By the time we were seated for the dinner, I was exhausted.

A man sat across the table from me sloshing a glass of wine and talking between bites of food. I didn't recognise him, but from the way he was talking, it was clear he was a director.

'It's just rarely done well,' he said. 'It's as if nowadays, people can't be bothered making up their own stories so they just pick up a book and go 'I'll turn this into a film instead!''

I cleared my throat. 'I think it's an art form.'

'A lazy art form.'

'Not necessarily. Creating nuance, working with semantics, expanding the source material, it's-'

'Oh an expert, are you?'

'Well I have a degree in English Literature and Film Studies. My focus was on literary adaptation so I like to think I know what I'm talking about.'

A man with short, dark hair tried to hide a smirk from across the table as he watched the other man become quiet. I bit the inside of my cheek and took a sip of champagne, trying to force down the awkwardness that was creeping into my stomach.

The director mumbled something under his breath, clearly annoyed by my rebuttal. He returned to talking to the others around the table as the dark-haired man shuffled closer to me.

'So you studied adaptations, then?' he asked.

He had sharp features and a Scottish accent. I recognised him immediately.

'I-I did, yes.'

'Did you ever do Sherlock Holmes?'

I laughed. 'Actually, Sherlock Holmes is my favourite. I wrote _a lot_ of essays about it.'

He looked at me funny. Something between a squint and a smile; like he was assessing me.

'I'm Steve... Steve Moffat.' He reached out his hand.

'I know,' I replied as I shook it. 'I'm Adrian Bury.'

'So, Adrian, are you a writer?'

'Erm, no, actually, I'm an actor.'

His eyes lit up curiously. 'Oh really? Would I know you from anything?'

'Probably not,' I laughed. 'I've been doing TV in the states for the past few years.'

'Oh right. Are you still working over there?'

'Not anymore. I came back to shoot a film, we start next month. I actually just got home today.'

The entire time I was talking to him, I felt my insides squealing. _Don't mention how much of a fan you are_ , I thought. _Definitely don't tell him you've watched Doctor Who 7000 times._

'It's a coincidence you studied adaptations,' he said. 'We've just shot a pilot for a Sherlock TV show.'

'You have!? Oh that's brilliant! So exciting!'

 _Calm down, Adrian,_ I thought to myself.

He laughed. 'Can I ask, since you're a fan, what are your thoughts on the Margaux Cave character?'

I thought for a moment. 'Well she's never been done in an adaptation before. I think that's because there's so many theories about who she is and her connection to Holmes that no one can decide what to do with her. She's so ambiguous in the stories, I feel like you either believe she was a love interest or you don't.'

'Do _you_ think she was a love interest?'

'Honestly, I do.'

He nodded in agreement.

'Have you included her in your show?' I asked.

'We haven't decided yet. We've had to go back and do a rewrite and we keep going back and forth on the idea.' He looked down for a quick moment as if he was thinking, before clearing his throat. 'If we were to write a few scenes for the character, would you be interested in coming and reading for it?'

My mouth opened slightly, my heart fluttering excitedly. 'Y-yes. Absolutely.'

He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a phone. 'Do you have an agent, Adrian?'

Christine popped her head around me. 'Yes, she does. Hello.'

*

The January morning was bitter cold, yet I basked in the bright, chilly weather. I'd missed it so much. I arrived at a town house in the middle of London, walking up the steps and pressing the buzzer with a shaking finger.

When I got upstairs to the flat, I was greeted by Steven who shook my hand and smiled. He introduced me to the tall man standing beside him. It was Mark Gatiss. I kept my cool.

'And Adrian this is Sue,' said Steven, gesturing to a woman sitting in a chair nearby.

'Hello,' I said politely, waving at her.

'Did you get the script okay?' he asked.

I nodded as I slipped off my coat. 'I did, I loved it.'

'Alright, great. Well before we get started with that, let's just chat.'

I sat down nervously, as if it were a job interview and I was an under-qualified candidate. I watched out the corner of my eye as Sue set up a camera before turning to me and smiling.

'Would you mind just stating name, age and role you're reading for?'

'Er, sure.' I looked down the lens. 'I'm Adrain Bury. 27. Reading for Margaux Cave.'

'D'you know something, I can't seem to place your accent,' said Mark.

'Oh, well I was born in Liverpool, but moved to London when I was about 7 or 8,' I replied. 'So I'd describe the accent as... Londoner with the occasional twang.'

The three of them laughed softly.

'I'm good at accents though,' I added quickly. 'So I can get rid of the twang if you'd rather...'

Mark raised his hands with a smile. It was the most polite, non-verbal 'shush' I'd ever received.

'Fuck, sorry,' I said. 'Oh, shit I shouldn't have- I'm sorry, I swear a lot. It's a problem. I'm really trying to stop.'

I couldn't understand why I was so nervous. The three of them were being kind and warm, casual and welcoming. Yet I sat there like a terrified, jittery idiot.

'So Adrian, I know you said you've been working in the US,' said Sue. 'But do you have any experience in UK television?'

'I've done a lot of dramas and sitcoms. Small roles here and there. I did mostly modelling back then really, I'd only just started getting into acting when I got the job with CBS.'

It was as though I could feel the bullet in my own foot, the gun in my hand. Why did I say that? I could feel their enthusiasm for me fading, as if they were thinking: _oh god, she's going to be terrible._

'Shall we have a little read through?' said Steven, hurrying things along. 'You said you've read it?'

'I have.'

'What were your initial thoughts?'

'I love what you've done with her. The push and pull between her and Sherlock is great.'

'Alright, let's go from the top of page six.'

'Are you ever going to tell him how you figured it out?' Mark said, reading John Watson's lines.

'Maybe. For now I'm enjoying the fact that I've outsmarted Sherlock Holmes.'

He chuckled. 'He is an enigma.'

'He's fascinating.' I paused. 'Do you want to know something really embarrassing?'

'Go on.'

I looked up from the script, making eye contact with Mark as I spoke. 'Some time last year, he asked for my help to find something in the criminal archive. We worked so closely for an entire weekend, and after he solved the case... I came onto him.' I laughed and dropped my head. 'And he completely rejected me.'

'You are joking.'

'Nope.' I dropped my head, finishing the scene.

'Lovely,' said Sue.

We went over several more scenes, and with each one, I felt myself relaxing into my chair. My limbs loosened, my face brightening as I followed their directions with a sense of ease. By the time our meeting came to an end, I was almost enjoying myself.

I stood up and put on my coat, leaning forward and shaking each of their hands.

'Thank you so much, and good luck with the show,' I said, almost residing myself to the fact that I'd never hear from them again.

I went downstairs and stepped out onto the busy street, taking a long, deep breath before beginning to walk. As I reached the bottom of the street, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I pulled it out and answered it, my fingers numb from the cold as I held it to my ear.

'Hello?'

'Adrian are you busy?' asked Christine.

'Not particularly, why?'

'I just got a call from Sue Vertue.'

I turned around, my brows coming together as I stared back at the building I had left just moments ago. 'Really? I literally just walked out of my meeting with them.'

'Well it must have gone well because they've asked if you're free tomorrow.'

'What for?'

'A chemistry read with one of their actors.'

'I... Really?'

'Yes. Why do you keep saying 'really'?'

'Because I was almost certain I fucked that up- I mean, _messed_ that up.'

*

Whenever I thought of Sherlock Holmes, I thought of a tall, slender man with strong features and pale eyes. And now, standing in front of me, was a tall, slender man with strong features and pale eyes. Great casting, I thought to myself as I shook his hand. He looked young, student-like, with his shaggy dark curls and well-worn converse. But when he began to speak, I was almost floored. His voice was deep and commanding, his accent pleasant and proper. With a voice like that, it was no wonder he had made a career out of using it.

'I'm Adrian,' I said.

'Benedict. Or Ben. Whichever.' He smiled.

'So have you read with many potential Margauxs, then?' I asked as we waited to start.

He shook his head. 'You are actually the first.'

'Really?' I was now noticing how much I used the word 'really'.

'Mhm, it's a difficult part...' he continued to talk, but I found myself zoning out as I stared at his face.

I recognised him. But I couldn't put my finger on how. Then he straightened his back and pulled a funny face at Mark as he said something from across the room, and it hit me. 'Starter for 10' - the last film I had been to see before moving to LA.

'Okay shall we get started?' asked Steven as he sat down between Mark and Sue.

I blinked myself out of my daydream and nodded.

'Oh actually, before we start,' said Ben before leaning towards me. 'Are you comfortable with me touching you during the scene?'

I shrugged. 'Yeah, fuck it, go for it.'

He tried to stifle a laugh.

'Sorry,' I sighed. 'I swear I'm really trying to work on my language.'

'I don't fucking mind,' he replied dryly.

I dropped my head and chuckled.

We ran a scene between Sherlock and Margaux. It was an argument - tense and fiery as we moved around the room with a natural fluidity. He was exciting to work with, his portrayal of the brilliant detective unlike anything else I'd seen. With every run-through, I began to see myself in the role of Margaux more clearly. And by the end, I wanted it. I wanted it so badly that I was sure I'd be devastated if I didn't get it.

'It works,' I heard Mark say.

'The chemistry's wonderful,' Sue added.

Then they began to talk amongst themselves, their voices blending into a low mumble that I couldn't understand. After a few agonising minutes, they went quiet.

Steven looked at me. 'Listen, Adrian, we'd usually go through your agent and everything but there's no point, we'd love for you to do the part. If you want it, it's yours.'

I grinned, trying my best to hold in the excitement bubbling up my chest and threatening to spill from my mouth. Instead, I nodded calmly.


	3. The Table

Scotland 2009

My hands were numb. I stuffed them in the pockets of my puffer jacket as I looked out across the field, at the elaborate film equipment and gatherings of people working busily to set up the shot. No one tells you when you go into acting that the majority of your time is spent waiting around. Standing in cold fields or on uncomfortable sets, all for the sake of a two minute shot.

The film was called 'Junk'. It was artsy and brooding, with limited dialogue and heavy, dark themes that meant I'd spent the past week feeling low. Even when they shouted cut, when we chatted between scenes or wrapped for the day, there was a sense of sadness that followed me everywhere.

After the scenes in the field, we drove back to the house we'd been filming in. They changed my clothes and I sat with the director as he coached me on what he wanted from the next scene. I was nervous, trying to push down the feelings of panic that were squeezing my chest and turning my stomach.

'Are you alright?' he asked, noticing my hands shaking.

'I'm fine.' I nodded with a smile. 'Just... getting in the zone.'

I sat on the floor of a dinky bathroom with a camera close to my face. On the edge of the bath, the prop guy had set up a line of vitamin powder. I looked down at it and grimaced, shaking away the unwelcome thoughts before falling into character and waiting for them to yell action.

I did the scene 5 times. Each one getting a little more dramatic and unhinged. I'd snort the fake cocaine and fall back, slowly breaking down into tears. By the final take, I was exhausted. Relieved to get out of the tiny room and insisting I was fine to the crew as I pushed through them.

It wasn't until I got back to my hotel room that night when everything hit me all at once. Like a freight train. I lay on my bed and cried myself to sleep.

London 2009

I felt like a proper working actor. Travelling from one end of the country to another, living off coffee and the occasional cigarette, forgetting what it felt like to have a full night's sleep.

I walked into the room to see everyone already there. They were chatting amongst themselves, discussing the script and warming their hands on polystyrene cups. I made eye contact with Mark and waved from across the room before setting my bag down and pulling up a chair at the long table.

'Coffee?'

I looked around to see a man standing behind my chair. 'Oh are you the tea lady?' I joked.

He laughed. 'Yeah. Actually, they offered me an acting job but I said nah, I'd rather make the drinks.'

I laughed too and reached out my hand. 'I'm Adrian.'

'Martin,' he replied as he shook it. 'So, coffee?'

'Er, yeah. Black please.'

He grimaced. 'Sicko.'

I chuckled to myself as he walked off towards the drinks table. I turned around, letting my eyes wander across the array of faces - some familiar, some new - trying to match them to the names in my script. One face I did recognise was Benedict's. He was standing with Martin at the drinks table, chatting quietly before taking two cups from him and making his way over to me.

'Courtesy of Mr Freeman,' he said as he sat down beside me and slid the cup across the table.

'Seats everyone, let's get started,' said Steve as he sat down next to Sue.

The room simmered down into quiet as the production team around the edge of the room began to introduce themselves. Everyone from producers to writers, props to scene coordinators said their names and their jobs one after the other. Then it was the actors. I took a generous gulp of coffee and winced as it burned the roof of my mouth just before my turn.

'Adrian Bury, playing Margaux Cave,' I said calmly, even though my mouth was on fire.

'Benedict Cumberbatch, playing Sherlock Holmes.'

'Er Martin Freeman, playing Watson.'

I had only been back in London for a few months, yet somehow my life had already started to shift. I couldn't quite fathom how a chance meeting at an event had lead to me sitting at a table with a script in my hands, reading alongside a room full of unbelievably talented actors. But I was thrilled - each day that went by solidified the fact that I'd made the right decision in coming back.

We'd been reading for a couple of hours. The early evening darkening slightly through the window.

'That was... Just an experiment. Just to, er, just to see,' Benedict read as he sat beside me.

'Of course. Just an experiment,' I replied, taking a deep breath as I finished my final line.

Everyone turned the pages of their scripts in perfect unison and Steve began to read. 'A long pause. Their faces remain close, the tension palpable. Sherlock leans in again but this time it escalates. Hands in hair, heavy breathing, smashing objects. Music accompanies. Cut to black. End of episode.'

The room murmured with a collective 'ooh'. I laughed and rested my chin on my fist, sneaking a glance at the man I was going to be acting alongside. His dark hair was shaggy and unkempt, his jumper old and well-worn. But there was something charming about him, especially as he read his lines with an effortless confidence.

He looked down at me and leaned in, speaking only to me. 'This is going to be interesting.' He was trying to put me at ease, I could tell.

'I hope you're a good kisser,' I joked.

I watched as his eyes creased with a smile and he began to laugh.

People gathered their things, slipping on their coats and hoisting bags onto their shoulders.

'Right, who's up for the pub?' said Steve, rubbing his hands together.

There was a murmur of agreement as I wrapped my scarf around my neck.

'Pub, Adrian?' he asked as he stepped towards me.

'Yeah, alright then. Why not.'

*

They'd gone to the pub after the first few read-throughs and decided to make it tradition. It was clear they'd all gotten to know each other already - it was like a family that I was being welcomed into. We bundled into a corner, got our drinks and raised our glasses to the show. I watched as people talked and laughed. Happy to sit quietly and take it all in.

'So Adrian what were you doing before this?' asked Louise.

'I had a recurring role on a show in the states,' I replied. 'Only been back a few months.'

'Oh right I remember you saying. What made you leave?'

I puffed my cheeks and blew the air out through my lips. 'Lots of things really. I started a film that's shooting over here. Also, I was dating my costar and we broke up about a week before I wrapped my final scene. It just felt like the right time.'

'Oh god I'm sorry.'

'It's okay! We're still really good friends.'

Benedict pulled up a chair beside me and sat down with his drink.

'Are you happy to be home?' he asked.

I nodded. 'Absolutely. I loved LA but it's just not the same.'

The evening rolled by with effortless conversation. Every time I tried to buy a drink, someone would shake their head and insist they bought it for me.

'Go on then, what can I get you?' asked Martin as he stood up.

'Oh not only are you the tea lady, you're the barmaid too!' I joked.

He laughed.

'I'll have an old fashioned if they do them,' I said.

Benedict looked at me. 'That's one of my favourites.'

Martin rolled his eyes. 'One for you too then?'

'Go on.'

We watched as he pushed his way through to the bar before turning back to each other and smiling.

'By the way,' I said. 'I'm a fan of your work.'

'Really?' He seemed genuinely surprised.

'Yeah. When I first met you at the chemistry read, I thought I recognised you. It took me a while to realise where I knew you from.'

'Oh. Where?'

'Starter for 10.' I laughed. 'It's one of my favourite films.'

He bowed his head and chuckled. 'I thought you were going to say one of my theatre performances...'

'Sorry,' I shrugged with a smile. 'Been in the states since 2006.'

'Ah that's fair enough.'

'Do you still do theatre?'

'Mhm,' he nodded as he finished the last of his drink. 'I think I'll always do it. First love and all that.'

Martin approached the table with our drinks. We clinked our glasses and took a sip together.

'That's a pretty shit old fashioned,' I said.

'There isn't even any orange in it,' Ben agreed as he looked into the glass.

Martin sat down and put his middle finger up at us. 'You'll get what you're given!' he shouted.

Ben turned back to me. 'How's your film going?'

'It's going.' I sighed. 'I'm really enjoying it but it's hard work. It's er, it's bringing up a lot of bad feelings.'

'Mm,' he nodded, his mouth full of alcohol. 'You taking the method approach then?'

'I wasn't trying to. It just sort of... happened.'

I thought back to filming in the bathroom and shuddered.

Ben turned to the door of the pub and began to smile as a woman walked in. He shifted aside and pulled up a chair to let her sit down as everyone began to wave and say hello.

'Ade, this is my girlfriend Olivia,' he said.

'Hi,' she smiled as she sat down.

Oh. I didn't say it out loud. But 'Oh' was definitely how I felt. It was moments like this where I was thankful I wasn't just an actor, but a good actor. I smiled kindly, kept my joints loose, my face calm.

'So lovely to meet you,' I said.

'Adrian's playing Margaux Cave.'

'Oh, how nice.' She didn't sound like she meant it.

He turned to me. 'Olivia's going to be in episode two.'

'Bit of nepotism never hurt anyone,' she joked, placing a hand on his thigh.

'Yeah,' I said. 'Anyway, I better get going now. I'm going back up to Scotland in the morning. See you all on set next week.'

The goodbyes sounded like murmurs as I grabbed my jacket off the back of my chair and left. Why did I do that? I didn't know. I hailed a taxi and rode home in silence. The taste of old fashioned still burning my tongue.

*

I stepped through the door of my sisters' flat, threw my bag down and headed straight for Rowan's bedroom. She was lying in bed, her TV playing quietly in the corner.

'I thought you were away for filming,' she said.

'Had to come back for a table read. Going back to Scotland in the morning.' I kicked off my shoes and climbed into bed next to her, still fully dressed but I didn't care. 'What've you been up to today?'

'Uni.' She shrugged. 'Booked another gig.'

'Oh that's good. Where's Éna?'

'In her room. I could hear her talking to herself before, think she's making another one of those video diary things.'

'What for?'

'I don't know. I'm pretty sure she puts them online. Talks about her recovery and stuff. I think it helps her deal with it.' She muted the TV and rolled over to face me. 'So how was the read through?'

'It was good. I'm excited about it.'

'Think this could be your big break?'

I laughed. 'I don't know about that. They're paying me well though. I think I'm going to save up and buy a flat. Maybe somewhere big enough for the three of us.'

'Ew don't do that. I want a place of my own after I graduate.'

'Mhm, and what do you plan to do with Éna?'

'She can just stay with me until she goes off to uni.'

'Ah, that's assuming she wants to go. What if she doesn't?

'Then I'd be stuck with her.'

'The walls are thin, lads!' We heard Éna shout from her room.

Rowan covered her mouth. The pair of us bursting into laughter.

Wales 2009

It was 10pm, and the set of 221B Baker Street was freezing cold. It was my fifth day of filming and we'd finally gotten to the scene I'd been scared of.

I was standing in a tight, extravagant dress. My hair was preened and set carefully in place as the makeup artist patted gloss over my lips.

'Okay we're going to close set now,' Steve shouted. 'We need camera and boom to stay. Besides that, unless you're myself, a director, Ben or Adrian, you need to clear out, thank you!'

I watched as the crew wandered off set. My heart was thumping as I looked over at the dining table, at the lights and cameras being set up around it. The dress was backless and I was shivering as I waited on the cold, draughty set. Suddenly, a pair of hands appeared behind me and began rubbing my arms to keep me warm.

I looked over my shoulder to see Ben standing behind me in his tuxedo. We'd developed a good friendship over the past few days, bouncing off one another in scenes and joking together between takes. I'd come to enjoy his company; he was professional yet warm, creative yet down to earth.

'Reckon we can do it in one take?' I asked.

'Yeah,' he wrinkled his nose. 'We'll smash it.'

We had made the decision not to practice the kiss beforehand, wanting it to be awkward, nervous and clumsy. It was a decision I was now second-guessing as we got in our positions.

I perched on the edge of the table with Ben sitting behind me in a dining chair as we waited for them to reset. They were taking forever. So I lay back on the table, tilting my head back to looked at Ben.

'Good evening,' I said.

'Fancy seeing you here,' he replied. I was looking at him upside down, but I could tell he was smirking. 'How's the film going?'

'Getting there.'

'You don't seem so sure.'

'It's the first film I've _ever_ done and I'm somehow the leading lady. I feel like an imposter.'

He shook his head. 'You're very good at what you do. It may be your first but it definitely won't be your last.'

I smiled.

'Right, we want to get this all in one swift take,' said the director.

I sat up and cleared my throat.

'Let's go from 'do you know what I think', camera's going to follow Sherlock and we'll go right into the kiss,' said Steve as he sat behind the camera.

I nodded.

'Okay, rolling, and action.'

I twisted my body, resting my weight on my hands as I looked deep into Ben's eyes. 'Do you know what I think?'

'Of course, I know what everyone thinks.'

'I think you've gone your entire life feeling nothing. I think feeling nothing has made you the brilliant mind that you are today. I think you felt nothing for so long that you assumed it was because you _couldn't_ feel. But you can. You just don't want to. And I think you _hate_ the fact that _I_ make you feel something.'

'I think you're lonely.' He stood up and put his hands on the table, bringing his face close to mine as he spoke. 'Judging by the stick-and-poke tattoo on the inside of your upper arm and the subconscious distain in your face whenever family is mentioned, I'd say you were emancipated from your parents at sixteen, no, fifteen wasn't it? So you've worked and fought for everything you have, so much so that nothing you want is ever the easy option.'

'Who says I want you?'

'You do. Right now. It's written all over your face, it's in your body language...'

'How is it you can sense that in me, but not in yourself?'

'Because I don't–'

'Shut up.'

'Love, attraction, romance... it's all futile. It's messy, it just clouds your thinking,' he continued.

'How would you know?'

'I know everything.'

'No you don't.'

This was it. I turned away from him, feeling my breath shaking as it left me. I was in awe of his timing. Ever since our first scene together, I was blown away by how easily he was able to build tension by doing nothing but staying quiet. I could hear his footsteps as he circled the table, the camera following smoothly until we were face to face.

His hand was cold as it touched my cheek and I let out a soft gasp, gripping the edge of the table with my hands. He leaned in, agonisingly slow, until eventually his lips were on mine. I imagined what it would be like to be Margaux. How careful she would be, how she'd be worried about pushing him away.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against mine. 'That was just, it's just an experiment. Just to... Just to see...'

'Of course,' I whispered. 'Just an experiment.'

He waited a few seconds before kissing me again. This time, I curled my fingers into his hair, feeling his body press against mine. We kissed for what felt like forever, knocking things over and moving with a hunger that almost made me forget we were acting at all. I felt his hands grip my thighs and lift me from the table.

This wasn't in the script.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kept kissing him as he carried me through the archway.

'Okay, we'll cut there,' someone shouted. 

We stopped kissing. Ben put me down gently and I rested my palms on his chest.

'That was good!' I said enthusiastically as I wiped my smudged lipstick with my thumb.

'Sorry I lifted you, it just felt right in the moment.'

'No, it was great. It really worked. Whether they agree or not, I'm sure we'll find out now.'

He laughed as we walked back onto the set.

We stood behind the monitor and watched the scene back, listening to suggestions and notes on how to do it differently. We went back and did it again. Then again. And again. Until eventually, they were satisfied.


	4. Ones to Watch

London 2010

I'd rented a flat. I told Rowan I wanted to buy somewhere, but Christine said it wasn't a good idea to set down roots just yet. _You could end up back in America_ , she'd said. _Or your career could flop and you'd not have enough money for the mortgage_.

'Charming,' I replied.

I was wandering around, filling my bookshelves and unloading shopping into the cupboards when my phone rang. I ran to it and answered breathlessly.

'Hello?'

'Ade it's Caz.'

I looked around for somewhere to sit, but my furniture hadn't been delivered yet. I plonked myself on the floor and crossed my legs like a child, listening as Carys sighed down the phone.

'I wanted to talk to you before anyone else gets a hold of you.'

'What's up?'

'Junk's been postponed.'

'Postponed? How come?'

'They've decided they want to try and push to get a bigger release. Y'know, everywhere, instead of just select theatres.'

'Oh.' I straightened my back, my mouth twitching with an almost excited smile. 'Right okay well... what are we talking? A few weeks?'

She was quiet.

'Months?'

'It looks like it's not going to be until 2011.'

'Next year!?'

'I know Ade, I know, it's shit. But it'll be better in the long run.'

I dropped my head in my hands and sighed. 'Okay, fine. But... my job with this is done, right? They're not wanting to reshoot anything are they?'

'They said they're not.'

'Right, okay.'

A while later, I found myself wandering around my empty living room as I talked to Christine on the phone. My bare feet padded over the worn, wooden floor as I paced back and forth.

'You know I've planned my year around this film coming out,' I said. 'I turned down work.'

'I know. I'm your agent.'

'What am I supposed to do?'

'Just sit tight. All actors go through dry spells but the work will come in. You've got your episode of Sherlock airing in August and you're filming that thing for Channel 4. You're golden.'

'I'm fucked, Christine. That's what I am.'

'You're also dramatic. Definitely chose the right profession.'

I'd spent my day on the phone. So much that the side of my face had turned hot and sore. The sun was setting. I pushed open the window in my bedroom and sat on the large windowsill, lighting up a cigarette and resting my head on the cold glass.

My phone rang again. I rolled my eyes and groaned.

'Hello?'

'Guess what.' It was Rowan. Her voice was fast and high pitched, as if she were bursting at the seems to talk to me.

'What?'

'I got the part!'

'What part?'

'The audition I went for? For the ensemble.'

Suddenly I remembered, and I wondered how I could have forgot. It was all she'd talked about; spending every moment locked away in her bedroom practicing show tunes.

'Oh my god. Rowan that's... I'm so happy for you!'

'I know! Get on me: straight out of uni into the west end. My tutors always talked about the people who studied there and went on to be successful. Now that's me. Ha! I'm a success story!'

I laughed, wishing myself to sound more enthusiastic. I was elated for her, but the disappointment from earlier was still weighing heavily on my mind.

We hung up, and within seconds, my phone rang again. I flicked my cigarette out the window and let out a frustrated growl.

'What now!?- hello?'

'It's me, can you talk?'

'Hey Éns, yeah of course I can.'

I settled back down, letting out a long, calming exhale.

'Guess what?'

'You got a part in a west end musical?'

'Very funny. No. But isn't that so amazing for Rowan!'

'Mhm, it's great. So what's your news then?'

'I've hit...' she paused dramatically, as if she were trying to build suspense. 'One. Hundred. _Thousand_. Subscribers.'

I paused for a moment. 'I... have no idea what that means but congratulations?'

'On YouTube, dick head, I've been making videos about my recovery and there's 100,000 people watching me. Can you believe it!?'

'Oh god, Éna that's a lot of people. Are you sure you want to be putting such personal stuff out there for so many to see?'

'I don't post anything I'm not comfortable with. And get this... I'm making money from it! Actual money into my bank account. It's like... remember when I wanted to go on that young filmmakers course but I couldn't because I was in hospital and almost died?'

She was always so matter-of-fact about everything that had happened to her, so frank and blasé that it almost made me laugh.

'Yeah?'

'Well now I get to be a film maker. Just on the internet instead.'

'Well as long as you're being safe. Y'know, not sharing your address or anything.'

'I'm not stupid,' she laughed. 'Anyway, I've got to go. I'm going to a house party tonight with some people from college.'

'Are you going to film it?' I asked sarcastically.

'Piss off.'

I giggled. 'Be safe.'

My phone was silent for the first time all day. I sat looking out at the city, tutting out my bottom lip and feeling sorry for myself. It seemed as though everyone was doing well; achieving goals, moving forward, and I was just... there. An actress a couple of years from 30, no more successful than I was when I started.

*

The next few months went by slowly. I felt like a broken down car chugging up a steep hill - I was getting there, but it was taking every ounce of energy I had.

I went away for a few weeks to film for a TV Drama I'd never heard of. But when I told my sisters what it was, they got excited. They asked if I'd been living under a rock, I said sometimes LA felt that way.

Then July came, and the world was finally introduced to a version of Sherlock Holmes like they'd never seen before. Reviews were rolling in, discussions and fan pages popping up across the internet filled with intrigue and admiration for the show. It was strange, knowing that I was about to become a part of it - a character in a world that had captured the attention of millions.

I'd had a glimpse, somewhat, of what it was like to be the subject of intense fans. Mostly young people who found my ex boyfriend attractive and campaigned relentlessly online for our characters to fall in love on the show. It meant that when our real life relationship got out, there was a pressure that came with it. People would edit together footage of us and add love songs to it, set up fan pages and discussion boards, share facts and theories about our relationship. But it never bled into the mainstream media. I never found myself inside a gossip magazine or being followed by paparazzi. So I was calm, I felt prepared for whatever was going to come.

I sat down on the couch next to Éna in their flat as Rowan played with the TV remote. She flicked the channel to the BBC - it was starting any minute.

'I swear to god, everyone I know is obsessed with this show,' she said as she joined us on the couch.

'Same,' said Éna. 'It's been so hard not telling people at college that you're going to be in it.'

'You could've told people...' I shrugged.

She shook her head. 'Nah, I want to see their faces when they all come in telling me I look just like that woman from Sherlock and I turn around and say "yeah? That's my sister."'

I laughed. There was no denying the three of us were related. We had the same dark hair, same thick brows and full lips. We often joked about the fact that our parents hadn't given us anything except our genes. 

The show started. I watched as Ben appeared on screen with his long coat and dark curly hair.

'A girl from work was an extra on that film he was in, Atonement,' said Rowan as she pointed to the screen. 'Goes on about him like they're bloody best mates. He probably doesn't even know her name.'

'He's so good,' said Éna.

I nodded, distracted, as I kept my eyes glued on the show. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and clicked on the notification. Matt had tweeted:

_Hey UK people, so my friend_ _ @AdrianBury _ _did a thing and it's airing now on BBC1. Or at least I think it is. I worked out the time difference myself._

I smiled. It still felt strange seeing him call me his friend. I stared at the tweet for a while before Éna elbowed me hard in the arm.

'Ow!'

'Look, it's the back of your head,' she said.

I clicked retweet and put my phone away before looking up at the TV and there I was, dressed in a lab coat talking to Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson. I hated watching myself back, but I made an effort to sit through it, remembering how I once made an interviewer laugh in shock when I admitted I'd never seen an episode of anything I'd ever been in.

'Oh god,' I mumbled as the scene cut to Sherlock and John in 221B Baker Street.

'What?'

I shook my head. 'Just watch, you'll see.'

They watched quietly as the door opened, their eyes widening when they saw me step into shot wearing a tight, sparkling dress.

'You look so pretty,' said Rowan.

'You look like a Bond girl," added Éna.

Rowan looked at her. 'That's the point, dipshit.'

Éna put her middle finger up and their eyes returned to the TV, the pair of them watching as the scenes in the museum played out, gasping and squealing as the drama unfolded.

 _You were emancipated from your parents at sixteen- no, fifteen, wasn't it..._ Ben's rich voice played through the TV.

The pair of them looked at me.

'Oh... I told Steve and Mark about what we went through with our parents and they asked if they could write it into Margaux's story.'

'Best hope they don't see it.'

'It's not like they'd give a shit anyway.'

When the scene on the kitchen table started, I covered my face with my hands. But for some reason, found myself peaking through my fingers to watch the kiss. It was steamy and chaotic, exactly like we'd intended. The camera zoomed in as his hands grasped my thighs, following us as he carried me out of the room. Then suddenly, the music stopped and the screen went black before the credits and theme song began to play.

I lowered my hands from my face and exhaled, a mixture of pride and relief washing over me. It was good. Really good. I didn't often say that about my own work, but I couldn't deny it - I didn't want to deny it.

'You're a pretty good actor aren't you,' said Rowan, nodding in approval.

'I fucking hope so,' I replied with a snort.

'They can't just end it like that! What happens next?'

'I don't know, I was only in the one episode.'

'Well are they doing another season?'

'I don't know!' I laughed.

'Look...' said Éna, giggling to herself as she showed me her phone.

It was a text from one of her friends: _Watching that Sherlock on telly and OMG this girl is the spitting image of you!!!_

'Told you,' she said.

We laughed together as I stood up from the couch. 'Right, avert your eyes. I'm most definitely not going for a smoke.'

'I thought you quit?'

'I did. Then I started again for Junk and just haven't bothered stopping.'

I walked down the hall and stepped out onto the narrow veranda. I lit a cigarette and felt my phone buzzing in my pocket again. I took it out, smiling as I scrolled to find Matt's tweet. But instead, my brows came together in confusion. Rowan appeared behind me, talking about something but I wasn't paying attention.

'Row, look at this...' I said as I handed her my phone.

She looked down and I watched her eyes widen.

'Is it a glitch or something?' I asked.

She looked up at me. 'Oh my god. You're famous.'

'Oh shut up.' I took it back, staring down as my follower count continued to tick over, increasing more and more with every second that went by. 'Seriously?' I breathed. 'All from one episode?'

*

There were Articles. Tons of articles, and reviews and blog posts and profiles. I was in them all.

I sat in a cafe in the middle of a busy London high street holding a magazine in my hand, my other wrapped around a hot mug. Christine sat opposite me in her crisp blouse and grey blazer, waiting as my eyes trailed the glossy pages.

The column was titled _The Stars of BBC's Sherlock._ I skimmed through the text until a sentence caught my attention.

'Bury's performance of the seductive Dr Cave...' I looked up at Christine and grimaced. ' _Seductive_?'

She rolled her eyes and took the magazine out of my hands before replacing it with a news paper. I looked down at it.

_Ones to Watch: Rising Stars of the UK_

I was number six.

'I'm a "rising star" _,'_ I said, jokingly smug.

It had been a week since my episode had aired and I had already noticed people recognising me more than they used to. It was bewildering, sometimes scary, but I reminded myself that it had only been a week. Things would settle down. They always did.

'Right so I'm thinking of putting together a PR team,' said Christine as she looked down at her small black notebook. 'I know a great publicist-'

'Why would I need a publicist?'

'To make you look good, to coach you on what to say, to guide you down the red carpet at awards and things.'

'I haven't been invited to any award ceremonies...'

'Well it's not award season,' she said sharply. It almost made me laugh. 'We should also look into bringing a stylist on board-'

'Stylist?'

'Darling,' she began bluntly in her smoky voice. 'You're wearing flares. In 2010.'

I looked down at my vintage striped trousers. 'I like them. I thought they were very 70's.'

'Mm. Anyway, we'll register your name on the Actor's Guild, get someone to manage your public appearances, statements, plan your schedule-'

'Chris. I was in _one_ episode of something on the BBC and I've gained a few extra fans. It's not that big of a deal.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Do you know what you are? You're in denial.'

I snorted and took a sip of my coffee.

'No, Adrian. I'm being serious.' She was pointing her pen at me as she spoke, like a teacher telling off a pupil. 'You like to do this little "I'm just a regular girl" shtick and it's charming, really. But it's not realistic. If you want to make it big in this industry, you have to act like you already have. We need to hit the ground running while we've got legs.'

Suddenly I felt cold. It was like I was being offered a promotion I wasn't ready for, a pair of shoes three sizes too big.

'W-why would we need to do that?'

'Well do you plan on being a small time actor working job-to-job on the small screen your whole life? Or do you see yourself in the A-list?'

'I... that's ridiculous,' I laughed awkwardly. 'I'm not in this for fame, Chris.'

'Fame is currency to actors, Adrian. In the same way you measure the success of a business based on the number of customers it has, you measure the success of an actor based on how many people recognise them when they walk down the street.'

My breath hitched and she could tell I was on the verge of panic.

'This isn't just happening to you,' she said. 'What's his name from Sherlock... Benedict Cul- Cram-'

'Cumberbatch...'

'That's it. I know people on his team and apparently he can't move at the minute for offers. Everyone wants him, interviews, castings, he's overrun. And he seems to be handling it well.'

*

I sat alone in my flat. My thighs squeaking on the plastic I hadn't yet taken off my new couch. My phone hadn't stopped buzzing. Social media, friends, work, it was as if I'd stepped willingly into a spotlight without knowing how bright it was going to be.

I held the phone in my hands, contemplating for a moment before finally biting the bullet and making a call. It rang out. I waited until I reached the voicemail.

'Hi Ben, it's me. Adrian. Adrian Bury.' I rolled my eyes at my own awkwardness. 'Sorry about this but I just... I don't know, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed with all the attention our episode of Sherlock got.' I closed my eyes and scratched the back of my head. 'I don't know, I just thought you'd maybe be able to understand- relate to how I'm feeling. But, er, don't worry I just wanted to talk. Nothing important. Hope you're well.'

I hung up and lay down, staring at the ceiling and making patterns in the swirls of plaster. I thought about calling someone else. Martin, maybe. Or Louise. I sighed and rolled onto my side when my phone began to ring.

'Hello?'

'Hi...'

I wondered if there was a way of complimenting his voice without sounding creepy. Probably not. I sat up, pressing the phone hard against my ear.

'Hi. Listen, I'm sorry about that. I'm just feeling sorry for myself-'

'Do you want to go for coffee?'

'Oh. Erm...'

'If you're in London, that is.'

'I am. I'm here. Yes. Yes I'd like to... do that.'

'Okay. Can you get to Mayfair?'

'What? Now?' I looked out the window as the sun settled below the horizon.

'Yeah.'

'Yes. Yes I'll... where should I meet you?'

*

We sat in a small boutique cafe tucked away down a side street. The baristas were mopping the floors and tucking away chairs as we sat in the back corner out of view.

I hadn't seen him since we filmed last year, almost not recognising him at first. His hair wasn't dark anymore. Instead, his short curls were a shade of auburn, his face covered in a light stubble.

'I feel ridiculous even complaining,' I said. 'It's not like I'm being rushed off my feet by mobs of crazed fans. It's just... the idea that I can't do this job without...'

'Without possibly becoming a celebrity.'

I laughed. 'It sounds fucking ridiculous when you actually say it out loud. Like, I'm talking as if I'm going to be the next Meryl Streep or something.'

He chuckled into his mug. 'You might be.'

'Okay, Ben. If I'm going to be the next Meryl Streep then that means you're going to be the next... Morgan Freeman.'

'Morgan Freeman!?' He burst into laughter. 'Of all the actors you could have likened me to, you chose Morgan Freeman.'

'I'm shit under pressure. As you can tell.' I gestured to myself. The messy bun on top of my head, the slouchy jumper with sleeves that were too long.

He smiled kindly.

'My agent said it's been mad for you too,' I said.

He nodded. 'Well I'm getting a lot of attention from women. Which was rather unexpected. I've got a feeling I'm going to find myself on a lot of "weird crush" lists.'

'How are you handling this so well?'

He shrugged. 'I'm just trying to see it as flattering. People liked my performance and now they want to work with me. It's sort of how this industry goes.' He sipped his coffee. 'I've been doing this for a long time. Movies, TV, theatre. I was pretty content with how things were, but I'm not going to turn down opportunities to go further.'

'I think deep down, attention is the goal for anyone who chooses to be an actor.'

'I think you're right. If no one's watching then we're just a bunch of adults pissing about playing pretend.'

We sat in a comfortable silence for a while. I think he could tell that this was all I wanted; for someone who understood how I felt to simply be there with me, even if it was just for a cup of coffee.

I giggled to myself. 'I read this review where they talk about Sherlock and Margaux's kiss...'

'Was it the one that complained it was too "raunchy" for the BBC?'

I nodded. We laughed together.

'My manager sent me another one after that,' he said. 'It was by a critic - I can't remember his name - but he said it was, and I quote: well-acted and evocative.'

'Ooh, fancy.'

'I know. Go us.' He grinned before looking down at his watch. 'Gah, I'm sorry Ade, I have to get going. Olivia's waiting for me.'

There it was again. The niggling feeling in my stomach that I couldn't explain.

'If you ever need to talk, I'm always here,' he said as he stood up and put on his jacket. 'You're a friend.'

'Thanks, Ben.' I smiled, staying put as he made his way through the cafe and disappeared out the door.


	5. Exciting Young Stars

France 2010

Winter in France is surprisingly cold. I had been filming on location for the past two weeks. A minor role in a period piece about 1920's Paris.

I was sitting in a folding chair, shivering as a breeze blew in through the open windows. A stylist messed with my hair as I looked over the script when the director walked past.

I didn't like him. He couldn't have been much older than me, yet he carried himself with an arrogance that put everyone on edge. He was blunt and harsh, and I'd noticed a clear difference between the way he treated the men and women, both in front of and behind the camera.

I was no stranger to playing 'sexy'. I'd modelled lingerie, stripped almost nude for acting jobs, performed screen kisses. But I'd never done a proper sex scene. I looked over at my scene partner; a handsome, french actor named Louis who was apparently quite well known in France. Then I looked back at the director again.

I hurried over to catch him up, patting him on the shoulder to make him turn around. He stared down at me plainly, as if he were bored before I'd even started talking.

'Hi, I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment about... well...' I gestured to the scene being set up behind me. 'It's just, I've never done a full sex scene like this before and I was wondering if you were going to go through it with us first? Y'know, plan it out beforehand.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well I'm just, I'm a bit uncomfortable about the whole thing. I don't know why but I feel sort of... vulnerable, and I just think we'd all benefit from having something choreographed.'

'No. We're just gonna do it,' he said dismissively.

'Right, no that's fine,' I replied, trying my best to not sound like I was being difficult. 'I was just wanting to prepare a bit so I knew what to expect.'

'You take your clothes off and pretend to shag, it's not hard.'

He turned away from me and walked towards his spot behind the camera. I felt a lump in my throat, but it wasn't the kind that made me want to cry. It was shock, anger, the feeling that I had no choice but to just do it. If I was Meryl Streep you wouldn't tell me to just do it, I thought.

We did the scene. It felt awkward but it didn't seem as though anyone noticed. The director stood watching it back on the monitor, nodding and talking to himself as an assistant helped me into a robe and walked me over to the costume department to get dressed.

After we wrapped for the day, I wandered around one of the trailers putting my things back in my bag. I'd thrown on my jeans and a T-shirt, my face still painted with 20's style makeup, my hair full of pins and hairspray. There was a gentle tap on the door.

'Yeah?'

The door opened and I watched as Louis climbed up the steps.

'Oh, hi,' I said.

'I was hoping to talk,' he said in his thick french accent.

'Sure.'

'I wanted to apologise about the directors words.'

'Oh?' I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder and turned to look at him.

'I... listen to what he say before the scene. I tried to make you feel... how you say? Comfortable?'

'Oh you did,' I nodded gratefully. 'Thank you. You did.'

'I hope we can be...' he thought for a moment, as if he were translating in his head, searching for the right word. 'Friends.'

I smiled. He smiled too, creating deep dimples in his cheeks.

I was starting to think I had a problem with fancying my costars. First Matt, now Louis. After we spoke in the trailer, we went for a drink and by the early hours of the morning, I was in his hotel room. We slept together, and the whole time I couldn't stop thinking about the scene we'd filmed earlier that evening. Then my thoughts went to how unprofessional this was.

Since August, it felt like everything I did was under a microscope, like my 'image' suddenly mattered. When I'd go out, I'd take more time deciding what to wear on the off chance I got stopped by someone for a picture. I spoke more carefully, tried to watch my bad language in case my words were overheard by someone who recognised me. But I never thought about this - about what would happen if I slept with the wrong person. What if they tried to hold it against me? Threatened to sell a story or went around bragging that they'd been with that actress from that show.

Louis wasn't a wrong person. But as I got dressed in the bathroom, fixed my smudged makeup in the mirror, I realised that he could have been. And I really needed to start being more sensible.

I walked out of the bathroom and saw him sitting at the dressing table by the window. He was hunched over, fiddling with something. I walked over and saw the perfect white lines laid out in front of him and my heart sank.

He looked up at me. 'You want some?'

'We're due on set at 6am...'

'We will be fine. You want some?' He gestured to the cocaine again.

'No.'

'I do all the time. Is not er... how you say... it's not bad. Everyone does this.'

'I don't care. I can't be near you if you're going to do that.'

'Oh...'

I grabbed my bag off the floor and headed for the door. 'But you knock yourself out, yeah? Enjoy,' I said.

He gave me a thumbs up. Clearly my sarcasm had been lost in the language barrier.

'Adrian...'

I turned around. 'Yes?'

'You don't tell people about this, no?'

'No,' I sighed. 'No, I wont. I'll just... I'll see you in a few hours.'

London 2010

I arrived back home two weeks before Christmas. When I got off the train, the sky was still dark and a fog had settled low in the air. I walked up the steps, almost slipping on the morning dew that had laid over every surface, sharing a giggle with a passerby who had watched me cling to the railing in a panic.

I went straight from the station to my favourite cafe in central London. Christine had set up an interview with the Sunday Times and I was weirdly excited. They had done a spread about Benedict earlier in the year, I remembered reading as the journalist gushed over his charm and politeness, calling him one of Britain's most exciting young stars. Maybe I was going to be an 'exciting young star' too; maybe my interviewer would write nice things about me, talk about how even though I hadn't slept in 36 hours, I was still nice to chat with.

When I got there, I met with a man in a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and a bright, garishly patterned cardigan. He seemed excited to meet me, shaking my hand and telling me he was happy he got assigned to me. We sat down at a table in the window, ordered coffees and began to chat as he set up a voice recorder on the table between us.

We started chatting. He asked me why I chose the cafe, I said it had been around forever and I always loved coming here when I visited from LA. He made a note of my favourite drink - house roast with almond milk.

'Why almond milk?' he asked.

'I've been vegetarian for years,' I replied. 'I recently started trying to go completely vegan.'

'What's the reason for the change?'

I shrugged. 'Moral reasons, mostly. I like animals more than most people.'

He laughed. We continued to talk, slowly moving into my career. But with every question he asked, I realised this wasn't going to be like Ben's interview at all.

'You recently did a film with James McAvoy, what was he like?'

'He's lovely. Really kind and funny, and he swears just as much as me. He was great to work with.'

'Had you been a fan of his beforehand?'

'... Sure.'

'And you were filming Sherlock around the same time as the movie, was it hard juggling the two things at once?'

'Not really, that's sort of what actors do,' I laughed.

'Have you kept in touch with any of them since filming?'

'Yeah of course, we've all got each other's numbers - we share a text, phone call from time to time. I er, I actually just went for dinner last month with Louise Brealey who plays Molly.'

'It's recently been announced that Martin Freeman's been cast in the new Hobbit movie shooting next year,' he said. 'Do you think he'll be good in it?'

'Oh yeah, Martin's great. He'll be great.'

'And what about Benedict Cumberbatch? Do you see him much?'

'Now and again.'

'What was it like filming those scenes with him?'

'It was fine. He's a professional and we got on great so I was comfortable.'

'Is he a good kisser?'

I cleared my throat. 'You're erm, you're asking me a lot of questions about my male costars...'

'Oh. Okay...' he sifted through his notes before landing on something and pointing to it with his pen. 'Oh, so I _did_ want to ask you about the dress you wore in Sherlock.'

'The dress, really? Clothes and boys. Is that honestly it?' I laced my words with a laugh, trying my best not to come off as rude.

'Alright... erm, were you familiar with the Sherlock Holmes stories before taking the part?'

'I'm sorry, I really don't mean to sound rude but did you do much research before this? Or do you prefer going in sort of like a first time meeting?' I really was trying to sound polite.

'No we like to learn a bit of background before we interview people.'

'Oh, it's just because I studied literary adaptation at uni and one of my focuses was on Sherlock Holmes. I thought you would've-'

'You didn't study acting at uni?'

'No.'

'What uni?'

I halted, talking as if I was embarrassed. 'Cambridge,' I mumbled.

'Really!?' He started scribbling in his notebook.

'Yeah I was erm, I was in a bad place at that time of my life. Wasn't taking much too seriously. And my teachers were making everyone apply to universities. So my friends and I thought it'd be funny to apply for the big ones as a joke; y'know, Oxford, Cambridge... and I, er, I actually got in.'

'Wow,' he laughed. 'Y'know, it surprises me to hear you went somewhere like that. I gathered from the research I did that you didn't have the most privileged upbringing.'

'I didn't. I won a grant to help pay for it. Started working as a model to make money while I studied. That's how I got into acting, realised I loved it.'

'So working as a model, you must have had to keep yourself in good shape. What would be your three biggest beauty tips?'

I stared at him. Really? Everything I'd just told him and he wanted to ask me about beauty tips.

'I'm sorry?' I stammered.

'Y'know, skin care, fashion, ways to keep the weight off.'

I clenched my jaw. 'Well cocaine worked pretty well for me. Kept me very trim.'

I was done. I didn't care anymore. I watched his face drop as he tried to cover up the shock with a nervous laugh.

'Lots of drugs,' I continued brashly. 'I was pretty much permanently high from the ages of 18 to 21.'

He cleared his throat, not knowing how to proceed. Something told me I wasn't going to get the 'exciting young star' label I'd hoped for.

*

'You know you're not my only client,' said Christine. 'Yet somehow you're taking up all my time.'

'What?' I asked as I sat down in her office.

'The interview you did last week. I just got sent a copy for approval before it goes to print. Why the bloody hell would you talk about being a druggy!?'

'Erm, an ex-druggy. Thank you.'

'Why would you say that in an interview, Adrian!? What the bloody hell possessed you!?'

'Because it's true! I told him I've been clean for nearly seven years-'

'We're trying to make you marketable.'

'So? Nearly every actor in Hollywood's been caught doing drugs at one point or another.'

'And?'

'And I'm pretty sure Johnny fucking Depp's still getting work.'

'Adrian. Junk's coming out in a few months, we've got award ceremonies coming up, I just got word that they're writing a second season of Sherlock. What if they don't want you now?'

'Because I _used_ to be an addict? Christine that's ridiculous.'

'Is it?'

I huffed.

'We're putting together a PR team,' she said, banging her hand on her desk. 'I don't want to hear anything more about it.'

I pulled out my phone, opening a text from Rowan.

_You're still coming tonight aren't you? They've put a ticket behind the box office._

*

Inside the dark theatre was the first time I felt like I'd properly breathed in months. My phone was switched off, no one was looking at me and I was completely distracted by the show. As I watched the cast perform, singing together as the orchestra played beneath them, I found myself smiling. I knew exactly how they were all feeling, how Rowan was feeling, getting to showcase their passion, entertaining us with their talent.

I rose to my feet as the cast took their bows, clapping so hard my hands began to itch. Even beneath the heavy makeup and costume, I could still pick Rowan out. She was smiling, looking out across the audience with so much pride it made my heart swell. After everything she'd been through; our terrible childhood, Éna's eating disorder, my drug addiction, she had never faltered. She had spent the majority of her life walking through hell, yet somehow she had come out the other side as if it had been a stroll in the park.

When I followed the crowd out of the theatre, I noticed a familiar face across the busy foyer.

'Hello!' I waved as I pushed through the crowds.

'Oh my god Adrian, hi!' replied Martin.

We leant in, kissing lightly on the cheeks.

'Oh, this is my lovely partner Amanda,' he said.

I turned to the woman at his side. 'So nice to actually meet you,' I said before sharing cheek kisses with her too.

'You too!' she replied. 'Loved you on the show.'

'Aw well thank you.'

'So how come you're here?' asked Martin.

'Oh, my sister's in it.'

'Really?'

'Yeah. What about you two?'

'Old friends with the director.'

A small circle of people were beginning to form around us as a man approached and began snapping pictures.

'Excuse me, sorry,' he said. 'Could I possibly get a few shots of you looking this way?'

Martin and Amanda turned to face the camera. I followed, putting my hand on Martin's shoulder as he lay his hand on my back.

The man nodded his thanks. 'Could I possibly get a quote from you about the show too? For promo?'

'Sure,' I began. 'Erm, I haven't been to the theatre in a while and this has really reignited my love for it.'

'It was brilliant,' said Amanda.

'If you can get down here you most definitely should come to see it,' Martin finished.

'Thank you.'

He walked away.

I turned back to the couple and smiled. 'Anyway, I should head off.'

'Nice to see you, Ade,' said Martin. 'Oh by the sounds of it we'll probably be working together soon.' He said it quietly, trying to be inconspicuous so no one overheard.

'Oh yeah. Well, fingers crossed.'

I left the theatre and hailed a taxi, typing out a text as I sat in the back seat.

_You are amazing xx_

I sent it to Rowan with a smile before letting my head fall back on the headrest.

'You're off the telly,' said the driver.

'Yeah,' I laughed.

'I've had loads of famous ones in here. Just a few days ago I had that bloke off Eastenders.' He looked at me in his rear view mirror. 'You ever done Eastenders?'

'I haven't, no. Sorry.'

*

I climbed into bed and checked the time. 10pm. I worked out the time difference in my head before dialling and raising the phone to my ear.

'Hey!' said Matt.

'Hi,' I replied.

He knew me well enough to know something was wrong, ignoring the small talk and getting straight to the point.

'What's bothering you?'

I sighed and sunk my head into the pillow. 'Where to start? I had a shitty time filming a movie, got in an argument with my agent, oh and I told a news paper that I used to be an addict.'

He was quiet for a moment. 'Why?'

'I don't know. He was asking me loads of sexist questions.'

'And you thought the solution was to tell him you used to take drugs?'

He laughed. It made me laugh too, finally realising how stupid it sounded.

'I'll send you a copy when it comes out,' I joked.

'Are you kidding? I'll be taking a plane over just to buy it myself.'

'Speaking of planes, are you still flying to Cannes in May for my film?'

'I'm gonna try.'

'Which, in Matthew language, means "I'm too nice to say I can't make it."'

He paused. 'I'm sorry Ade.'

'It's okay. But just so you know, if we were still together I'd be furious.'

'Actually I wanted to talk to you about that... I've been wondering if we made a mistake.'

My heart stopped.

'I think we should get back together,' he finished.

I sat bolt upright in bed. 'Oh...' this was not good. 'Erm... god, Matt, I er...'

'I'm kidding.' He began to chuckle down the phone.

I covered my mouth and gave a relieved laugh. 'You fucker.'

'I can't believe you fell for that.'

'It was very convincing. You should be an actor.'

'It's funny you should say that because I already am.'

We talked for a little while longer and by the time I hung up, I felt much better. He was like a deep breath, always able to make me feel balanced and calm, no matter what.

Maybe I'd spoiled my chances at being an 'exciting young star'. But perhaps I didn't need to be. I could be an 'unpredictable young star' instead. Maybe not even a star; an 'unpredictable young human'. That would do. But come to think of it, I wasn't even that young, maybe not even that unpredictable. Which just left 'human'.

I could picture the headline as I lay in bed: B _reaking News: Adrian Bury is Human_.


	6. Socials

London 2011

I'd never experienced an award season like this one. I was being pulled from one place to another, rubbing shoulders with celebrities, stars permanently in my eyes from the never ending barrage of cameras.

None of us were shocked to discover that Sherlock had been nominated for a host of different awards. Everything from NTAs to BAFTAs - best show, best drama, best actor, best supporting actor, outstanding writing, music, editing. It felt overwhelming to have been a part of something that so many deemed 'outstanding'. But I still felt like a bystander - a spectator - watching from the sidelines as my costars were showered with praise and recognition.

I wasn't jealous. Maybe I was a bit jealous. But as I sat beside Martin when he won his BAFTA, I found myself smiling so much that my cheeks hurt. Not a speck of jealousy in sight.

At the after party, we sat around a table drinking and talking, celebrating the show's success. Ben had grown his hair out and dyed it dark in preparation for season 2. I was so used to seeing him with his short, auburn locks that he almost seemed like a different person. It wasn't just the hair. It was like he got into a different mindset; embodying the role of Sherlock completely, catching onto himself and having to make a conscious effort to loosen up.

I twisted my finger in one of his curls and tugged on it gently. He pulled a face and I laughed.

'I'll have you know that this head of hair is very valuable,' he joked.

'Sorry. You were staring off into space, I just thought I'd pull you back. Literally.'

He looked around the busy room, at the tables full of actors and directors, producers and writers, all drinking and celebrating with their awards in hand.

'I know, I'm just tired,' he said. 'I think I've been spreading myself a bit too thin.'

'Mm, you're putting us all to shame.'

'I'm burning myself out.' He turned to me, as if he'd been dying to talk to someone about it. 'When I get home from here, I'll get maybe four hours sleep then I've got press in the morning and need to be in the theatre by midday.'

'God, I know how you feel. I've got a meeting with my agent tomorrow afternoon then I've got like... three episodes of the American Office to catch up on.' I puffed out my cheeks, pretending to be exasperated.

It made him giggle. I smiled and leaned back in my chair.

'Where's Olivia tonight?' I asked.

'Oh,' he sighed. 'She's busy. She... yeah.' He trailed off.

I wanted to ask him if something was wrong. But I chose to stay quiet. Benedict spent every moment of his life with people poking around in his business, feeling entitled to know every detail of his life. I didn't want to be one of them.

'Oh by the way,' I said, changing the subject. 'I got tickets to come and see you.'

'You did? Why didn't you tell me? I would've had them put some aside for you.'

I shook my head. 'I was happy to buy them. Show my support for the arts and all that.'

He laughed. 'When are you coming?'

'Saturday.'

He thought for a moment before dropping his head with an embarrassed smile.

'What?' I said.

'I'll be playing the creature that night...'

We looked at each other for a moment. I'd heard about the opening of the play; the long, drawn out scene where Frankenstein's monster moved around the stage, alone and completely naked.

'Probably shouldn't have invited my sister,' I said.

He covered his face with his hands and began to laugh.

Manchester 2011

With the help of a PR team, Christine had somehow managed to spin the drug thing into a positive. They made me into an advocate for recovering drug addicts, appearing at charity events and giving talks about my own experiences.

I was in Media City, filming a segment for a Channel 4 show on drug abuse in the modelling industry. I felt like I shouldn't be there - I never took drugs to stay thin, to give me energy for shoots or to mingle with photographers. I took drugs because I was damaged and stupid and I got involved with the wrong people. I wasn't some glamorous woman snorting coke in the toilets of a posh club. I was a functioning junky, addicted to every drug I could get my hands on. Hard drugs, the kind that left me unconscious in dangerous places, throwing up in the back of taxis as my sisters struggled to get me home. I'd turn up to university and pretend as if nothing was wrong, the sleeves of my top still stained with blood from where needles had pierced my skin, getting feedback on essays I had no memory of even writing.

When I moved to America, I had only been clean for just under a year, my recovery was fragile like chipped glass, threatening to break at any moment. I often wondered if I'd have relapsed if I hadn't got that part. If instead of talking about it in past tense, I'd still be living it.

London 2011

Éna leaned back in her chair and pointed her phone at the ceiling, snapping pictures of the elaborate light display, then taking another of the programme in her hand. She tilted her head towards me and took a picture of the two of us together.

'Can I put this on my Instagram?' she asked.

'Yeah sure.'

'You should post more to yours. Keep your socials up.'

'I know, I just never have anything interesting to share.'

'You're an actress. Your whole life is interesting.'

The lights dimmed, a signal that the play was about to start. I shifted in my seat, curling my fingers around the armrest.

'It's about to get a bit more interesting,' I said.

'When you say he'll be naked, do you mean like... properly naked? Like I'm about see Sherlock Holmes' bollocks?'

'Éna,' I hissed.

'What? Everyone else in here's thinking it. It's probably why half of them are here in the first place.'

'Shush.'

*

We rose to our feet, applauding and cheering loudly as Ben and Jonny took their bows. The lights seemed to be blinding him, but I was sure I saw him searching for me in the audience. I wondered if I should wave, shout 'I'm over here!' But if he wasn't actually looking for me, I didn't think I'd be able to handle the embarrassment.

'Reckon we could get backstage?' asked Éna as people began to filter out of the theatre.

'He's probably exhausted,' I replied. 'Let's just go.'

'What's the point in having a famous sister if it doesn't get me backstage?' she teased.

The woman in front of us pushed through the door to the foyer, not bothering to hold it open for us and instead letting it swing back. The door handle hit me in the elbow and sent a jolt through my funny bone.

'If I was famous, shit like that wouldn't happen,' I said, nursing my arm.

We stepped out of theatre into the cold February night, I buttoned up my coat, asked Éna if she wanted to go for a drink. We were standing on the pavement deciding where to go to when a group of teenage girls approached us cautiously.

Éna had become somewhat of a celebrity in her own right; every day, people recognised her from the internet, asking for pictures and telling her how much they loved her videos. She was better with the attention than I was, taking it in her stride and almost thriving on it.

'Me or you?' I whispered as the group got closer.

'You,' she replied. 'Definitely you.'

Ben had mentioned how Sherlock fans would crowd the theatre and stage doors each night and I questioned how I thought I'd get away with being anonymous amongst a sea of people who would know my face the second they laid eyes on it.

'Excuse me, are you Adrian Bury?' one of the girls asked timidly.

'I am, yes,' I replied kindly.

'Could we get a picture with you?'

Éna took the girl's phone out of her hand before I could even respond, stepping back and instructing us to smile. I put my arms around them and posed for the photos, feeling one of the girl's hand shaking as it sat lightly on my back, as if she were afraid to touch me properly.

'Thank you so much,' they all said together as Éna gave the phone back.

'No problem.' I smiled. 'Fans of Sherlock, I'm guessing?'

They all nodded excitedly.

'We love you,' said one girl.

'Your episode was my favourite,' another agreed.

I stood and chatted with the girls for a while, causing a larger crowd to form; some people recognising me, others simply wondering what the commotion was. It began to rain, the wind picking up speed. I looked up at the black sky then back down at everyone as they stood around shivering.

'Guys it's freezing,' I said. 'You should go and get out of the cold.'

One of them shook her head. 'We're waiting for Benedict at the stage door.'

'Even in this weather?'

'Beth wants to give him a drawing she did of him.'

The girl at the back, who I was assuming was Beth, pulled out a plastic wallet and showed me a pencil sketch of Ben. It was perfect, almost photograph-like, I was in awe.

'Fucking hell did you draw that!?' The swearing was still an issue.

She giggled and nodded. 'I want him to have it.'

The rain grew heavier, pelting the pavement and soaking into their clothes.

'Well look,' I said. 'I can give it to him if you'd like? I know it's not the same as doing it yourself but it saves you catching a cold waiting around here for hours.'

There was a simultaneous gasp amongst the group, wide eyes and nudges as they encouraged her to do it.

'Really?'

'Yeah really. I'll get him to take a picture with it or record a message or something.'

'She'll put it on her Instagram,' Éna chimed.

I rolled my eyes.

Beth gave me the drawing, thanking me profusely. I slid it carefully into my bag and waved goodbye, cameras flashing around us as we hailed a taxi.

Wales 2011

'I waited for you,' his voice appeared behind me, making me jump in fright.

I was sitting in a chair with my eyes closed as the makeup artist buffed shadow into my lash line.

'Hm?' I opened one eye and glanced up to see Ben standing there, not yet in costume, hair still undone.

'When you came to see the play. I waited for you afterwards, told them to look out for you and bring you backstage.'

It had been over a month since the night at the theatre, yet it had clearly bothered him enough to still bring it up. The makeup artist put down her brush and wandered off to her kit to grab something.

'Oh,' I said. 'I'm sorry, I thought you might not be in the mood or that you'd have other people there so I just went straight home.'

'Ah.' He sat down in the vacant chair next to me. 'It's a shame, I'd have loved to see you.'

'Well if it's any consolation, I thought you were brilliant.'

He smiled. 'Thanks.'

'No really, it was brilliant. It made me want to do theatre - also made me _weirdly_ attracted to Frankenstein's creature...'

He bowed his head and laughed. I looked at him in the reflection of the mirror and grinned.

'Oh actually,' I said. 'How long do you have before hair and makeup?'

'I've got time,' he replied.

'Good.' I jumped up and ran to my bag that was hanging up by the door of the trailer.

He watched me as I returned with the drawing, still tucked safely inside the plastic wallet. He took it from me and raised his brows, creating deep lines in his forehead.

'Wow, Adrian, I had no idea you could draw,' he said sarcastically.

'Piss off. It's from a fan of yours. A girl called Beth. She was waiting for you that night outside the theatre and I said I'd give it you.'

'Wow.' He stared down at it. 'This is amazing. Of all the people in the world and she draws this.' He pointed to his face.

'I mean it's a great face, lots of angles.'

He laughed again, this time nudging me in the arm.

'Little _tiny_ thing...' I said, making my voice go high and squeaky.

'What?'

'Can I get you on camera saying thank you?'

The makeup artist stood by, brush in hand, waiting to carry on with my eyeshadow. I was pointing my phone at Ben as he sat opposite me holding the picture up and pointing at it.

I clicked record. 'Okay, go on.'

'Hi Beth. Just wanted to say a huge thank you for this incredible drawing. I'm so flattered and completely blown away by your talent. Lots of love.' He saluted and gave a charming half smile.

I looked down at my phone. 'Oh shit I wasn't recording.'

He glared at me.

'Just kidding. Are you okay for me to put this on my Instagram page? The girl said she follows me on there so I know she'll see it.'

'Sure.'

*

The set of 221B was covered in Christmas decorations and a small, controlled fire burned in the fake mantel. We all sat around in our Christmas party outfits, talking amongst ourselves as we waited for them to set up the shot.

'Martin, back on your mark please,' the director shouted, catching him out as he tried to sneak across the room towards me.

We had a game going where we would kick the backs of each other's knees, scoring a point each time we made the other fall over, half a point for an impressive wobble. It had gotten very competitive, the places we'd do it getting increasingly creative. I put my middle finger up at him and he sneered, folding his arms like a moody child as he stood back on his mark.

'When's your film coming out?' asked Louise as she stood with her arms folded over the coat she was wearing, her large earrings jangling against her neck.

'It was supposed to be at Cannes but they've pushed it back to the Venice festival in September,' I replied.

'Bloody hell, feels like you filmed it a million years ago.'

'I did,' I laughed. 'They've had nothing but problems with post production.'

'At least they're pushing on with it. I did a film once, went through the whole thing and then they scrapped it before it even went to edit.'

'Jesus, what was it about?'

'Oh it was awful, probably a good thing it never went ahead.'

I chuckled, looking around at everyone in their Christmas attire. The production team kept telling Una off for sipping her fake Sherry, constantly having to send someone in to fill her glass for continuity. Ben stood on his mark fiddling with the violin in his hands. He looked sullen and brooding, as if Sherlock had entered his body and stayed there, even between takes.

But something was off. I could tell he was distracted, his mind preoccupied by something other than lines and scene direction. I wanted to go over to him and ask if he was okay, but I technically wasn't even supposed to be on set yet and I didn't fancy getting told off like Martin had.

*

It was 2am and we had finally wrapped for the day. I had changed back into my own clothes and my phone was pinging nonstop in my bag. So much that the battery had drained to almost nothing by the time I dug it out. There were thousands of notifications - likes, comments, new followers. It was overwhelming and I had no idea where to start.

I clicked on a text from Éna. _Your video of Benedict has gone viral._

 _What the fuck does that mean?_ I sent my reply.

_Adrian you're nearly 29 how do you not know what viral means?_

The buzz around Sherlock meant that there were always people skulking around the studio. Paparazzi with cameras, intense fans, all waiting to get a glimpse of the cast and share the latest news and theories about what the second season would hold.

It meant that we had to be ushered into cars and driven to our hotels. I was making my way over to a car when Ben rushed up and joined me at my side. Even at 2am he was wearing a pair of sunglasses; fame had struck him the hardest, turning him into a magnet for attention, both wanted and unwanted.

I looked down at his hand, he was carrying Beth's drawing.

'I'm glad you like it,' I said. 'I mean, I don't know why _I'm_ glad, I didn't draw it.'

'Yeah, I really do like it. I'm going to hang it up right above the bed,' he joked.

'Oh I'm sure Olivia would be thrilled with that.'

'Well I don't think she'd give a shit considering we broke up.' He laughed awkwardly.

I stopped walking. 'Oh... Shit, I'm...I'm so sorry, Ben. I had no idea.'

'It's alright, not your fault you didn't know.' He gestured for me to keep walking.

I hurried up, slowing once I reached his side. 'Well when did it- are you... okay?'

'March,' he replied. 'And yeah, I'm fine. Break ups are never nice but it was a long time coming.'

'How long were you together?'

'Ten years.'

'Fuck.'

He laughed. 'Yeah.'

'Well, if you ever need to talk about it, I've got some experience in the break up department. And I make a banging cocktail.'

'Aren't you still pretty much best friends with your ex?'

I nodded.

'Mm, not sure that'll be the case for me.'

'Ah.'

'But I'll definitely take you up on that cocktail some time.'


	7. Venice

Wales 2011

'Well that's going in the blooper reel!'

'I am _so_ sorry,' said Ben, his words broken and disjointed as he tried to stop laughing. He placed his hand on the back of my head. 'Are you alright?'

'I'm fine,' I replied with a chuckle.

It took everyone on set a few minutes to calm down, wiping away tears of laughter and catching their breath. We went behind the monitor and watched the moment back; Ben pulling me into a kiss and closing the door with his foot, spinning me around and pushing me back against the door. The boom mic had picked up the sound of my head hitting the door; the hard clunk, followed by my swearing and Ben's panic as he made sure I was okay.

'Maybe a bit less passion next time,' Steve joked as we reset the scene.

I stood on my mark with my hands on my hips, swaying from side to side. 'Never thought of myself as accident-prone until I started filming this show.'

'I know!' he replied. 'Think you're cursed.'

I thought back to earlier in the week. It was my first time filming a scene with Andrew; in awe of how easily he could fall into the terrifying character of Jim Moriarty. I was strapped to a hospital bed, feigning tears as he delivered his lines with a cold precision that sent chills down the back of my neck.

The script read that Moriarty would pull out a gun, press it against Margaux's temple as he threatened to kill her in front of Sherlock. But on the first attempt, he took the prop gun from his pocket and accidentally poked me in the eye.

It became a running joke amongst the cast and crew that they were all secretly trying to kill me. Steve would say things like 'if we can refrain from injuring Adrian today, that'd be great.', and Martin had found bubble wrap in the prop department one day, wrapping me in it while we ate lunch.

When we finally finished filming season two, I was sad to see it end. I had never enjoyed working on something as much Sherlock, wishing it could go on forever.

London 2011

'I just can't believe you're not taking us,' said Éna.

I rolled my eyes as we shuffled up the queue in the café.

'The only reason you want to go is so you can stalk celebrities,' I said.

'Yes, and?'

'And I'm sure there'll be plenty more opportunities for you to do that in future.'

'Mm.'

I approached the counter and ordered a coffee and a sandwich. I turned to Éna.

'What do you want?'

'Nothing, I'm fine.'

I glared at her.

'I'm not relapsing,' she said. 'I'm just not hungry.'

'So get a drink.'

'I said I don't want anything.'

Her tone was curt, defensive. I stood in silence for a moment before turning back to the barista.

'That's all, thanks.'

'Have a seat, we'll bring it to your table,' the girl said with a smile.

'Great.' I took out my debit card.

'It's on the house,' she said, gesturing to her colleague behind her. 'We're fans.'

'Oh... Erm, are you sure?'

She nodded.

I put my card away and thanked her before walking to our table. The atmosphere between Éna and I was frosty as we sat down.

I cleared my throat and lightened my voice. 'So, have you spoken to Row lately?'

'I was texting her last night.' She paused. 'She thinks you're a bitch for not inviting us to Venice too.' She smirked.

A sense of relief washed over me. She was terrible at pretending to be nice, especially if she were in a bad mood. That smirk meant she wasn't angry, that we were okay.

'She's on the west end eight times a week and you have college.'

'Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about that... I'm thinking of dropping out.'

'Why?'

'Because I hate it. Because I'm making money through social media and I want to focus all my time on it.'

'Éna...'

'I really think I could make a career out of this, Ade.'

I didn't know what to say. She was almost eighteen, I wasn't her mother, and I had no authority to speak on reckless decisions, especially since she had witnessed my addiction firsthand.

'And if all else fails,' she continued. 'I'll just mooch off you for the rest of my life.'

'Sounds like you've got it all figured out.'

'One of us has to.'

Venice 2011

I'd waited forever. Or at least it felt that way. After the push-backs and never ending problems, I'd almost resided myself to the fact that Junk was never going to be released. It seemed too good to be true, for a small-time TV actress to land the lead role in a film, like the universe had been playing a joke on me, handing me an opportunity then taking it away again.

But it was finally here. I was in Venice, standing in my hotel room as a stylist showed me different dresses and outfits for when I walked the carpet.

'I thought you might like this,' said Katie the stylist.

She took a long yellow dress from the clothing rail and moved the material with her hand.

'Okay, great.' I smiled.

She eyed me curiously before turning back to the rail and taking out another dress. It was white, with short beaded sleeves and a cut out back.

'I love this piece. I think this would be great for an after party.'

'Perfect,' I nodded. 'I love it, thank you.'

'Really? Wow. You are the easiest client I've ever had.'

I laughed. 'Sorry, I'm just nervous.'

She gave a sympathetic smile and returned to sifting through dresses.

*

The blue sky was scattered with clouds, but the sun kept the air warm. I'd spent the day walking around with the team from Junk, posing for photos, doing interviews and drinking champagne.

I was standing with Carys, looking out across the sea of people; everyone from actors and directors to press and photographers were swarming busily with an excited hum.

'I need to eat,' she said. 'Otherwise I'll be drunk at the premiere.'

I laughed. 'Being drunk might make it fun. Less nerve wracking.'

'It'll be fine, Ade. You've walked red carpets before.'

'I know, I know.' I looked around. 'Where's James?'

'Somewhere,' she replied with a shrug. 'Interviews, probably.'

A man came up and tapped Carys on the shoulder, mumbling something to her.

'Okay,' she said as she began to follow him. 'One sec, Ade.'

I stood within the circle of our PR team, trying to keep up with the information and instructions pouring from every direction. Katie knelt down in front of me and fixed my dress while the publicist began to prepare me for my next interview.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and tilted my head, speaking quietly. 'I reckon if we're sneaky, we could get you a McDonald's-'

I stopped talking when I turned my head, expecting to see Carys but instead my eyes made contact with a man's chest.

'Sounds nice,' he said. 'But I'm not hungry.'

'Oh my god, Ben, hi!'

He looked completely different to the last time I'd seen him, trading his long Sherlock coat for a pale blue suit, his shaggy dark hair for short blonde curls.

He had a film premiering at the festival too. Tinker Tailor Solider Spy. I glanced over his shoulder at the entourage, his fellow actors posing for photos.

'I was hoping I'd run into you at some point,' he said.

'Me too. I think our team got tickets to your premiere so I was going to try and grab you there.'

'When's yours? Tonight, right?'

'Mhm. Are you coming?'

He hummed in the back of his throat. 'We've got a lot of press on but I'm going to try and make it.'

'Okay. Well, no worries if you can't come.'

I was lying. I wanted him there. Partly because I wanted him to see my film, to see something I'd worked so hard on. But mostly, I just wanted to see him again. He made me feel comfortable; like a familiar face at an awkward party.

Cameras were flashing, I glanced around to see press taking photos of us. He rolled his eyes and smiled, as if he wasn't surprised by the attention our being together had created. He patted me gently on the back and leaned in close to my ear.

'Good luck tonight, I'll see you soon.'

I nodded gratefully and watched him walk away, my heart sinking when I saw him take a dark-haired woman by the hand and disappear into the crowd.

*

I stood in my long yellow dress, my hair styled, face made up, and I smiled. Smiled and smiled and smiled until my cheeks hurt, my eyes blurry from the scattering of camera flashes.

I was being escorted down the red carpet by a publicist named Donna. She was the first person Christine had contacted when putting together my 'team', and it was easy to see why. She was efficient and professional, keeping me moving, making sure I turned and posed for the cameras, organising the reporters I would speak to on the side of the carpet. Chris was right, I did need this. I hated it when she was right.

I stood with the cast as we had group photos, arms around each other, smiling and laughing. But inside, I knew we were all thinking the same thing: thank god it's finally here.

...

I hated watching myself act, physically cringing at the sight of myself on the big screen. It didn't matter how good I was or what part I was playing, I still found it difficult to watch.

When the credits began to roll, I felt my heart beating in my throat as the room erupted into applause, people rising to their feet and directing their clapping towards the two front rows filled with cast and crew. I squeezed Carys' hand and jokingly high-fived my costars.

I was relieved it was over; the nerves I had felt replacing themselves with excitement. I couldn't wait for the rest of the world to see it too.

*

I had made some questionable decisions at the after party. Decisions that left me with a headache and queasy stomach the next morning. I had vague memories of doing whiskey shots with James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender, like some weird X-Men fever dream, and I couldn't remember much else; praying I hadn't said something stupid in front of someone important.

One thing I did remember, almost too clearly, was that Ben hadn't shown up. I tried to rationalise with myself; this wasn't a recital or a school play, it wasn't somewhere you could wander in last minute, sit at the back and watch quietly. Beneath the glamour of the festival, we were all here for work. It was a glorified business trip. So he must have been busy. Or maybe he was busy with the woman I saw him with. The thought made my cheeks go hot.

That night, I walked the red carpet of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, sat in the theatre with the people from my film. It was there that I realised my eyes spent more time on the back of his head than they did the screen. And it was there that I came to the conclusion that I had a crush on him. A small, harmless crush, the kind of crush you don't act on but instead ride out and get over it after a couple of months. I would get over it. I had to.

I walked around the after party in my white beaded dress, Christine's voice echoing in the back of my mind; 'you better mingle,' she had said. 'Work the room.' Since my premiere the night before, it was like something had changed. People suddenly knew who I was, strangers calling me by my name, actors I'd admired for years approaching me to introduce themselves.

I looked across the room and saw Ben laughing with a group of people. I thought about waiting for a moment, but my newfound 'celebrity' status gave me a sense of confidence.

'Fuck it,' I muttered before making my way over.

I placed a hand on his back. He turned around, his face lighting up when he saw me.

'Hi!' he said cheerfully.

'Hi,' I turned to the other people. 'So sorry to interrupt.'

'You're not interrupting,' said Ben quickly.

We went and sat down at a table, drinking champagne as I congratulated him on his film.

'Thank you,' he said with a smile. 'I heard yours went well too.'

I looked at him for a moment. 'You didn't come.'

'I know,' he sighed. 'I'm sorry.'

'Too little too late, Cumberbatch. I'm afraid we're no longer on speaking terms.' I took a swig of champagne and leaned back in my chair.

He laughed softly.

'So...' I began. It was coming out like word vomit; I couldn't stop it, even though I desperately wanted to. 'Who was the lucky lady I saw yesterday?'

His brow raised, creating lines in his forehead. 'Hm? Oh, no one.'

'No one... That's a strange name.'

He looked at me funny, as if he were trying to read me but couldn't.

'Thought I'd bring someone,' he finally said. 'Not really working out though, hence why she's not here.'

'Bit awkward ending a relationship while you're in another country together.'

'She was going home today anyway.'

'Ah.'

'What about you? Did you not bring anyone?'

I shook my head. 'My sisters begged me to let them come. They're absolutely livid that I said no.'

He smiled. 'I meant more along the lines of a date.'

'Oh. No, no I've not really dated much since Matt. Just been having lots of casual sex instead.'

When I didn't hear him laugh, I looked up at him. He was wide-eyed, blushing awkwardly.

'That was a joke,' I said. 'Sort of.'

He began to laugh and I relaxed, noticing the tension I'd been holding in my shoulders.

A photographer approached and knelt in front of us. I was beginning to notice that we could never seem to have a conversation without the interruption of a camera. I turned to face it, feeling Ben lean in at my side, his hand on my back.

London 2011

By mid-October, Junk was in theatres. My life consisted of interviews and castings. Scripts for potential roles were piling up on Christine's desk, so many we were almost losing track.

I was back in my flat for the first time in over a week. I lay on the couch with a large glass of gin and sighed, it was like I'd forgotten how to just do nothing.

My phone rang and my stomach fluttered when I saw his name on the screen. Slapping myself gently, telling myself to stop being so pathetic.

'Hello?' I said as I answered it.

'I watched your film.'

I sat up. 'You did?'

'Mhm.'

' _You_ went to the cinema?'

'No, I had my people send me a copy.' I could almost hear his smirk through the phone.

'Oh of course, mr famous man, how silly of me,' I laughed. 'What did you think?'

I knew even if he hated it, he wouldn't say. But still, I was nervous as I waited for his response.

'I think you're incredible,' he said.

I smiled, biting my bottom lip to stop it spreading into a stupidly wide grin.

'I cried. A lot,' he continued.

'Really?'

'It was beautiful, Adrian. Camera work, gorgeous, writing, impeccable, your performance, stunning. I mean, I knew you were a good actor but Jesus Christ. You're going to have an Oscar one day.'

I snorted. 'I wish.'

'No, I'm being serious. I'd put money on it.'

'How much?'

He paused and began to laugh. 'You want to bet _against_ yourself winning an Oscar one day?'

'Yeah fuck it. How much?'

He laughed again. 'I don't know, a grand?'

'Okay. Deal.'

'But what are the grounds? Is there a time limit?'

I thought for a moment. 'Let's say... if I don't win an Oscar in the next ten years, I win.'

'Five.'

' _Five years_? Ben, you're just making this harder for yourself.'

'I'm being a supportive friend. Believing in you and all that.'

I smiled, placing my hand against my hot cheek. 'Okay fine. Five years it is.'


	8. Questions and Answers

London 2011

December brought an air of excitement and the festive joy that came with twinkling lights and Christmas songs playing on every radio station. When we were younger, this time of year was always bittersweet; I did what I could to make it special and exciting, but there was no escaping the fact that we didn't have Christmases the way our friends did.

As adults, people were always surprised by how laidback Rowan, Éna and I were about Christmas. We'd exchange gifts, sit around and have a drink together, but ultimately, December was just another month for us.

The first episode of Sherlock season 2 was scheduled for New Year's Day. Which turned December into a month of interviews and public appearances. I had parts in two new films; one in the US and one in the UK. Which meant that I was always tired, stressed and distracted as I journeyed back and forth every other week.

I was in London with the cast of Sherlock, about to walk out on stage for a live Q&A, guzzling down an energy drink as if it were the elixir of life. I hadn't done a Q&A before, unsure of what to expect as we stood listening to the audience chattering excitedly. We were talking amongst ourselves, quieting down when we heard the host begin to introduce us one by one.

Martin was away filming The Hobbit in New Zealand, leaving Steve, Mark, Ben, me and Lara. She had played Irene Adler in the first episode, a character so many were excited to see brought to life onscreen.

The host started with Steve. We watched him step out to the sound of cheers and applause, waving as he took the first seat at the end of the row. Next was Mark, then Lara, then me. I stepped out and waved, willing myself not to fall over or miss my chair as I sat down.

When the host announced Ben, I had to stop myself from covering my ears; the screaming was so loud and intense, making the rest of us share a glance and a laugh. He took the middle seat between myself and Mark, picking up his microphone and saying hello to the audience, inducing another fanatic scream.

The host began asking questions; what could they expect from season 2, how was filming, did we enjoy ourselves. I sat back enjoying the conversation, making funny quips and adding things here and there. We made a bet backstage about how long it would be before we were asked about the kiss. I turned to Ben and smirked, knowing I'd just won the bet as the host began to speak again.

'So one of the most talked-about moments from season 1 was that kiss,' she said. 'Were you expecting it to garner so much attention and conversation?'

'Well,' Mark began. 'I think it was a risky thing to do, especially with a character like Sherlock Holmes.'

'Yeah,' Steve added. 'It was always going to create a stir, we were fully aware of that when we wrote it. But I think that's the point, isn't it? We really wanted to solidify our version of Margaux and show where we stood with her character.'

'And what was it like for the two of you; Benedict and Adrian, to do that scene?'

Ben raised the microphone to his lips. 'It was wonderful.' He stopped and looked at me. 'That sounded really creepy.'

The audience laughed.

'I mean it was good,' he continued.

'Still creepy,' I added, getting another laugh.

He chuckled. 'I was very nervous. I don't tend to get nervous when it comes to screen kisses and what have you. But with a character like Sherlock Holmes, you want to get it right, you know?' He leaned back in his chair, speaking casually. 'Plus, Adrian is obviously incredibly beautiful, so I found the whole thing terribly intimidating.'

I felt my heart skip, trying my best to stay calm. The audience let out a collective 'aww'.

'And Adrian, would you agree?' asked the host.

'That I'm incredibly beautiful? Well of course.'

A laugh rippled across the room.

'No, I mean yes, I would agree with that. The thing with Sherlock is that he comes across as a somewhat... sexless person. But I don't think that's the case. I think he _chooses_ not to engage in all that stuff because he doesn't see a point in it. But it's definitely there. It was a lot of fun working with Benedict to bring Sherlock and Margaux together.'

The host nodded. 'And in the ACD books, Margaux Cave is a very mysterious character; we don't really know much about her or what her relationship actually is to Sherlock Holmes. Will we find out more in season 2? What's next for Margaux? How will she fit into Sherlock's story?'

'Well I don't really think she _does_ fit in his story. But I don't necessarily think she's supposed to. I mean, I'm analysing this in front of the writers.' I gestured to Steve and Mark with a laugh. 'So please butt in if I'm wrong, guys. But I feel like... everyone else that Sherlock's chosen to surround himself with; John Watson, Mrs Hudson, Molly Hopper, even Irene Adler as we'll see in the first episode, he invites them into his life because he's able to make them fit. Whereas Margaux, who could essentially be categorised as a 'love interest', doesn't belong in the narrative he's set up for himself.' I looked over at Mark. 'Sorry, should I-'

'No, keep going,' he said with a smirk, like he was enjoying my tangent.

'I don't know, I see Margaux almost as a physical representation of Sherlock's conflict. Y'know, he's this self-confessed 'sociopath'; doesn't do emotion or attachment, and she's like this... reminder to him, that he may not really be as cut-off as he likes people to believe. She's not there to provide some romantic, sexy storyline, she's there to challenge him. So I don't think she really does fit into this new season, but that's sort of the point.'

'Guess which one of us went to Cambridge?' said Steve.

The audience laughed. I put my microphone in my lap and mimed zipping my mouth shut. Ben looked over at me, winking subtly and giving an impressed smile.

I sat back for the rest of the Q&A, answering questions that came my way and laughing with the others. I found myself sharing glances with Ben, smirking and exchanging inside jokes without having to say a word to each other.

The thought crossed my mind that he may like me the way I liked him. But he was the kind of person who was nice to everyone - charismatic and flirtatious in nature - so it was impossible to tell. We hadn't talked much outside of work, exchanging the odd text and crossing paths at a couple of events. But it was better that way; less complicated, less awkward if it turned out he wasn't actually interested in me and I'd misinterpreted his friendship. So I buried it, told myself it was a harmless crush and that I was just lonely.

Afterwards, we were escorted to the private bar at the back of the theatre. We drank wine and posed for photographs, sat down with journalists and bloggers who had managed to secure interviews.

I walked up to a woman from the PR team, lowering my voice as I spoke.

'Sorry, just wondering if there's anywhere I could step out for...' I flashed the pack of cigarettes in my hand.

She nodded and ushered me away.

I glanced back to see Ben eyeing me curiously. ' _Where are you going?'_ He mouthed.

I flicked my lighter, creating a spark. He nodded. I could have sworn a saw a sense of relief on his face, as if he had been worried that I was leaving.

I stepped outside into a small courtyard filled with wooden palettes and large metal kegs.

'It's not the most glamorous of spots,' said the PR woman.

'It's fine. I've seen worse places,' I replied.

She left me alone, pushing her way through the door that led back inside. I put a cigarette between my lips and lit it quickly, folding my arms across my chest to shield myself from the bitter cold. The door opened again behind me, I turned to see Ben stepping out, an unlit cigarette already hanging from his mouth.

'I swear I'm quitting,' he mumbled as he lit it.

'Yeah yeah, that's what we all say.'

I looked up at him, at the scarf around his neck, the tweed jacket and black trilby hat. I found it funny, how it was so easy to tell the difference between when he had been dressed by a stylist and when he dressed himself.

'Every time I see you, your hair's different,' I said.

'I know,' he replied, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his overgrown blonde fringe. 'Star Trek starts in January.'

'And _this_ is the look they wanted for their villain?'

He laughed. 'They're dying it black, I believe. Going for the whole brooding bad guy look.'

'And The Hobbit too? I don't remember many guys with emo hair running around middle earth.'

'I'm... playing a dragon?' He said with a perplexed look on his face, a laugh threatening to break.

'Oh shit, you are?' I blew out a gust of smoke through pursed lips, throwing my head back and covering my face. 'I need to pay more attention when you all talk.'

'So when I said my _body_ was sore from filming...'

'I thought you were just really getting into the role, y'know, physically.'

'Jesus Christ, Adrian.' He was fully laughing now, shaking his head as he took a long drag of his cigarette.

I watch him for a moment, the smoke escaping his lips into the cold air.

'You seem worn out,' I said.

'I am. But what's new?' he shrugged. 'I haven't had time to do anything except work.'

'Like come round for a drink... like I suggested in, what was it? July? August?'

'I know, I keep thinking about that. Every time I get back to London I say to myself 'I'll call her for a catch up' but something always comes up.'

'I get it. Don't worry about it.'

He pondered for a moment before looking down at me. 'Are you free on Monday?'

'Sure,' I replied chirpily. 'I'll be in New York but yeah, I'm free.'

'Fuck sake.'

I laughed.

The cars arrived soon after to drive us all home. They were parked in a queue at the back of the theatre, small groups of fans hanging around in the hopes of getting a photo or an autograph.

We signed a few pictures and journals, stood for a quick snap as we were ushered down the line towards the cars. I climbed in the back and settled into my seat, blowing air into my hands to try and warm them up. Just as the car began to pull away, it stopped again. I looked over at the door as it opened suddenly and Ben leaned forward, peering inside.

'Just a thought...' he said, the sound of fans shouting behind him. 'What are you doing now?'

'Now?' I replied.

'Yeah.'

'Going home...'

'Fancy that drink?'

I pressed my lips together, trying to hide a smile. 'Sure.'

*

The sight of him in my flat was bizarre. I watched as he mooched around, looking at the pictures on my walls, crouching at my bookshelf and running his finger across the spines. This was my place. The place were I didn't have to put on an act or worry about being seen looking less-than-perfect. Having Ben there was like inviting someone behind the facade; it felt strange, almost unnatural to see my two worlds colliding in the middle of my living room.

I walked over to him and handed him a glass. 'You like an Old Fashioned, right?'

'Mm.' He took a sip and nodded. 'That's cracking.'

'I told you I make a good cocktail.'

We sat down together. I tucked one leg under the other and rested my elbow on the back of the couch, watching him as he looked around the room.

'Sorry it's not the most impressive place,' I said.

'No, it's nice. Nicer than mine.'

'That's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard.'

He turned to look at me. 'Do you think I live in a palace or something?'

I shrugged. 'You seem the type.'

He laughed. 'I'm thinking about buying a house.'

'Me too! But my agent said I shouldn't in case my career flops.'

'Charming.'

'That's what I said.'

My phone rang on the coffee table. I apologised to Ben and picked it up.

'Do we know what's happening on Christmas Day yet?' asked Rowan, not even bothering to say hello first.

'I don't know,' I replied. 'I'm not even sure if I'll be here. Why?'

'Oh nothing. My friends are having a 'flatmate Christmas' sort of thing, they invited me but I wanted to check with you first.'

'No that's fine. It sounds nice, you should go. What's Éna doing?'

'She said she can't be arsed with it. Think she's happy spending the day by herself in the flat.'

'Oh-'

'Honestly, I think she might be seeing someone and is just looking for some alone time.'

I looked at Ben, covering the bottom of my phone. 'I'm really sorry about this, it's my sister.'

He waved his hands and smiled kindly.

I put the phone back to my ear. 'Well okay then, as long that's what she wants.'

'Yeah. I'll keep you posted but we'll still do New Year's just the three of us.'

'Sounds good.'

'Okay bye!'

'Bye.' I put the phone down on the table. 'I'm so sorry. I don't like ignoring calls from my sisters - I missed a call once and it did not end well.'

I thought back to the frantic voicemails, Rowan crying as she rode with Éna in the back of an ambulance. I shuddered.

'It's fine,' he replied. 'Nothing was wrong, I hope?'

'No, no. Rowan was just seeing if I was bothering with Christmas this year.'

'Bothering with Christmas?'

'Oh, well er... we had a pretty shit childhood. Kind of ruined the magic of Christmas for us, so now we just sort of do whatever we want.'

He frowned softly. 'I'm sorry.'

'Oh don't be! It's fine, we're over it. For the most part.' I laughed.

'I'd offer for you to spend Christmas with me but I fear I might be working.'

'I think I'm working too.'

'Well that's depressing, isn't it.'

'Not when we check our bank accounts,' I said, shooting finger guns into the air.

Why was I like this?

He laughed, taking another sip of his drink. 'Ah! Do you play?' he asked, pointing to the guitar in the corner of the room.

'Yeah, do you?'

'No. I always wanted to. Can you play me something?'

'Not a chance,' I giggled into my glass. 'That's at least like a fourth or fifth date thing- not that this is a date. I didn't mean date like... _date_. I meant date like... get together.'

He looked at me, and I could have sworn I saw something click. It was like a light went on behind his eyes and he was suddenly able to see my attraction to him. As if it were etched on my skin, a neon sign flashing 'I fancy you' above my head.

I honestly hadn't meant to say it was a date, which would have been fine; easy to laugh off and breeze over. It was my awkward, flustered attempt at backtracking that gave me away. And I wanted the couch to grow teeth, to chew me up and swallow me down.

'Another?' I asked, pointing to his almost-empty glass.

I didn't give him a chance to respond, practically snatching it from his hand and darting away into the kitchen. I put the glasses on the counter and groaned, resting my elbows on the granite and burying my face in my hands.

'Adrian...' his voice appeared from the doorway. It was low and calm, almost concerned.

I snapped by body up straight and turned to him. 'Yes?'

'Are you okay?'

'Mhm. Same again?' I turned to the cupboard and began rummaging through the bottles. 'Or I could make something else? I'm partial to a martini...' I trailed off, suddenly feeling his presence behind me.

I turned around to see him standing there, towering over me and staring at my face in confusion. The pair of us stood in silence for a moment when, without a word, he lifted his hand to my cheek. He waited, assessing my reaction. I didn't pull away.

He leant in slowly, our lips connecting in a soft, tentative kiss. I wrapped my hands around his upper arms, gripping him as if I was scared he'd run away. But he didn't. Instead he deepened the kiss, inhaling sharply and curving his hands around the back of my head.

I'd kissed him before. More times than I could count. But this felt different; I was no longer hiding behind Margaux and he was no longer acting like Sherlock. This was us. Just us.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against mine. 'I've been thinking about doing that for a while,' he said, his voice almost a whisper.

I laughed softly. 'Do you want to go back to the couch?'

He nodded.

We walked back through to the living room, falling into another kiss as we sat down. I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck, savouring the feeling of his hands caressing my waist and hips.

I pulled away and looked at him. 'When you said you'd been thinking about doing that for a while, have you really spent the whole night wanting to kiss me?'

He laughed. 'When I said I'd been thinking about it for a while, I meant months.'

'Months? Really?'

'I thought my crush on you was sort of obvious,' he said. 'People at work teased me about it.'

'At work on _Sherlock_?'

'Yes,' he laughed again, running his hands up and down my back. 'You seriously had no idea?'

'I suppose I've been too wrapped up in my crush on _you_ to notice you had one on me too.'

'You've had a crush on me?'

I nodded.

'Why didn't you do anything about it?'

'I could say the same to you.'

'Well I... I don't know. We work together. I didn't want to tell you, for you to not be interested and just make things awkward on set.'

'You didn't think I'd be interested?'

He shook his head. 'Adrian, I've liked you for a while but I just never thought in a million years someone like you would be attracted to me.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'Look at you. Then look at me.'

'Hang on, weren't you on this year's sexiest men list?'

'Yeah but that's just-'

'That's just what? Were you put there by accident?'

He laughed.

'Millions of women all over the world fawn over you,' I said.

'I guess I just didn't think you'd be one of them.'

I pressed my chest against his, pulling him into another kiss.

Months. He'd liked me for _months_. I thought back to all the times I'd ran into him at events, the evenings spent talking in our trailers while filming Sherlock, how whenever an interviewer asked him a question about me, he'd always slip in the fact that he thought I was beautiful. I really had been blinded by my own crush.

The air between us was growing hot, our hands roaming each other's bodies as we kissed on the couch. I ran my hands up his sides beneath his T-shirt, but instead of welcoming it, I felt him gently push me away.

'I've made a deal with myself to not do this anymore,' he whispered breathlessly.

I stared at him.

'Sleeping around, one night stands. I just can't, Ade... I have to be sensible. Professional.'

'Oh... Right.' I was suddenly very aware that I had straddled his lap, climbing off him and sitting at his side.

'I just... this industry... you have to be careful.'

'I understand.'

He groaned. 'This has come out _so_ wrong. I'm not saying i need to be careful of _you...'_

'No, you're right. I should probably take that advice myself.' I gave a weak laugh.

'A-And I'm not saying I think this would be a one night stand either. But I mean, if that's all you wanted it to be then of course that's fine too-'

'Ben. Would you like me to take that shovel?'

He gave me a confused look.

'So you can stop digging that hole.'

He laughed, dropping his head. 'I'm sorry.'

'It's okay.'

He sighed and shifted his body around to face me. 'I was with Olivia for ten years. And not to sound like a dick, but since breaking up with her I've done a lot of... sleeping around.' He winced. 'I don't want to keep making that mistake, especially not with someone I actually like.'

'I suppose it's the sensible thing to do. Or, more accurately, not do.'

He laughed.

'I'm back and forth filming, you're leaving to do Star Trek. Probably not great to sleep with someone and then not be able to see each other for months on end.'

He seemed relieved that I understood, relaxing into the back of the couch and taking my hand in his. I leaned forward and turned his face to me, laying a slow, desperate kiss on his lips. When I pulled away, he kept his eyes closed, letting out a long exhale.

'I deserve a medal for this,' he said.

I laughed. 'I don't have any medals, but I can get you another drink.'


	9. Errol

London 2012

I had spent New Year's Eve on a flight back to the UK, watching the sky burst with fireworks below me as I soared through the clouds. When I got out of the airport on the first morning of the new year, I went straight to my sisters' flat.

They were curled up on the couch beneath a thick, cozy blanket, groaning and wrapping their arms around their stomachs, the evidence of their celebrations still scattered on the coffee table.

I picked up an empty wine bottle and looked at it before slamming it down on the coffee table. 'Good night!?' I shouted.

They winced at my voice and covered their faces with their hands. I laughed and sat down between them.

'Why are hangovers so much worse in your twenties?' asked Rowan.

'Mate, I'm eighteen and I'm dying,' said Éna.

'What a pair of wimps,' I said, folding my arms across my chest. 'Wait until you've experienced drug withdrawal. Hangovers are like a walk in the park after that.'

'Yeah well I don't plan on getting into class A's any time soon,' said Rowan.

'Good,' I laughed. 'Sorry I couldn't be here last night, I tried to make it but the connecting flight kept getting delayed.'

'It's alright,' Éna shrugged. 'What did you end up doing for Christmas?'

'Oh I flew over to Vegas for a couple of days, spent some time with Matt and his family.'

'Ah yeah, the old classic: Christmas with the ex. Totally normal,' said Rowan.

'I commented on his Instagram picture the other day,' Éna added absentmindedly.

I looked at her. 'You didn't comment on mine...'

She shrugged.

'Anyway.' I rolled my eyes. 'What did _you_ do for Christmas?'

'Éna had a boy round,' Rowan teased with a smirk. 'They watched Christmas movies and made their own dinner.'

'That sounds so nice! Who is he?'

'Just a guy I met at this YouTube thing.'

My face flattened. 'You met him _online_?'

'No... our jobs are online, we met in person.'

I inhaled as if I was about to speak when Rowan cut me off.

'Here comes the relationship advice from sister Ade.'

'I was just going to say I know what dating's like and I hope you're being... sensible.' I felt like an old woman giving a lecture on safe sex.

'You've been single for three years,' Éna replied bluntly.

'It doesn't mean I haven't had... _things_.'

'Things?' They both laughed.

'You know, things. The odd date, a few... nights.'

They laughed again.

'And when was your last 'thing'?' said Rowan cynically.

I shifted awkwardly.

She straightened her back. 'Oh my god you're seeing someone aren't you.'

'No.'

'You are!'

'No, I'm really not.'

'Y'know for an actress, you're a really shit liar.'

'Alright fine.' I held my hands up. 'I'm not seeing anyone. But there is someone I might fancy a bit.'

'Who is it?'

'I can't say.'

'That means he's famous,' said Éna with a raised eyebrow.

Rowan grinned. 'You've got yourself a famous boyfriend.'

'No.' I huffed. 'Look, I'm not saying who it is because he's not my boyfriend. We're not even... seeing each other. I just like him.'

'Does he like you?'

'He said he does.'

'So why aren't you together?'

'Because it's complicated.'

'Because he's famous.'

'Will you shut up?'

I hadn't seen Ben since the night in my flat. When he turned me down that night, I was under the impression that he wanted to take things slow; to date, talk. But things hadn't been slow, they were completely still. So still it was as if it had never happened at all. I thought he must have regretted it, woken up the next day without the cloud of alcohol surrounding him, and realised he'd made a mistake.

We'd exchanged a couple of texts, friendly things like wishing the other's projects well, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year. I wondered why he wasn't talking about what happened between us, but then I wasn't talking about it either. I had visions of him typing out texts and deleting them again, replacing them with a 'how are you?' Wondering if he should call. Because that's what I'd been doing.

*

There had been rumours that Junk was in talks for Oscar nominations. A thought so alien to me that I'd spent the past couple of weeks making jokes about it, asking Christine what I should wear to the ceremony and telling Carys to prepare her speech.

They had somehow got wind of the possibility that it might be up for Best Original Screenplay. The award she had dreamed about since she first started writing, the award she had pretended to accept so many times as she clung to a bottle or an ornament in our student flat.

She wasn't hopeful that it would actually happen. Junk hadn't won anything at the festival in September, but the reviews had been incredible, and she insisted that was more than enough. Still, I made a point of travelling to her home in Soho where we planned to have a drink with some of the production team while we watched the announcements.

It was late January and by afternoon, the sun already seemed to be disappearing. I got to Carys' flat and sat down amongst the group of familiar faces as we toasted to the film and waited for the announcements to start.

'There's no way it'll be us,' said Carys. 'The amount of films I've heard rumoured for best screenplay, there's no way ours will make it.'

'Why not?' I asked. 'Have a little faith in yourself, woman!'

'If I can get one then you definitely can,' said our director. He already had an Oscar nomination under his belt for a short film he'd made in 2006. 'Granted, I didn't win. But still...'

I laughed and suddenly the room filled with the sound of intense shushing. We stared at the live stream on the tiny laptop screen as the president of the Academy spoke into the microphone.

' _The nominations for Best Original Screenplay are... Michel Hazanavicius for The Artist, J.C. Chandor for Margin Call, Carys Lennon for Junk-'_

The room erupted into whistles and cheers. I screamed and grabbed her by the arm, shaking her with excitement.

Carys covered her mouth, her eyes welling up with tears. 'Oh my god!' she shouted, her voice muffled by her hands.

'You did it, bitch!' I shouted, so proud I was sure I could burst into tears too.

Everyone continued to pile around her, hugging and congratulating her, our collective voices so loud that we almost drowned out the sound of the laptop, as the president of The Academy said 'Junk' again. We all returned our attention to the screen, stunned to see our film had been nominated for Best Cinematography too. Then the next category came up; Best Original Score, and the composer for our film was on the list too.

'Three noms!' our producer shouted. 'Three!'

'I can't believe this,' said Carys. She was visibly shaking, completely overwhelmed.

It suddenly hit me that I was going to be attending the Oscars in just a few weeks. The jokes I'd made and the fun I'd poked was actually coming true. I was now able to say that I'd been in an Oscar-nominated film, and suddenly every decision I'd made in my career felt worth it.

_'The nominations for Best Actress in a Leading Role are... Michelle Williams for My Week with Marilyn, Rooney Mara for The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Adrian Bury for Junk-'_

What?

I went silent. The screaming around me turned into nothing but a murmur as my entire body became fuzzy, tingling with shock. I forgot how to breathe, certain it was all a dream. But as I felt Carys' arms engulf me in a hug, I realised I was completely awake, this wasn't a joke, it was actually happening.

'What the fuck,' I said. 'Carys, what the fuck is happening!?'

'Oh my god!' she squealed.

'But I wasn't on any of the lists,' I said, speaking so quickly my words were almost slurred. 'I wasn't even an option!'

My phone began to buzz in my pocket. One notification after another; tweets, texts, phone calls rolling in.

It had to be a mistake. 

*

I'd never seen my name in the media as much as I had since the announcement. Christine was inundated with requests from talk shows to have me as a guest. Journalists were writing profiles on me, breaking down my career into bullet points, listing every man - celebrity or not - that I'd ever dated. They were calling my nomination the 'biggest upset of The Oscars 2012', something Éna got extremely angry about until I explained to her what 'upset' actually meant.

'It doesn't mean they're angry I was nominated,' I said. 'It means it was unexpected.'

I heard her huff down the phone. 'Bit of a shit word to use, don't you think?'

I laughed. 'To be fair, there are probably people who are angry about it. A nobody being nominated.'

'Well fuck them.'

We talked for a little while longer before I said I had to go.

I was meeting with a designer who was fitting me for a dress. The awards were two weeks away and there was still so much to do - I didn't even know what day I was flying out to Hollywood yet. It was like I was floating above my body, watching myself bounce from meeting to photo shoot, appointment to interview. I hadn't had a moment to let any of it sink in, I didn't think it ever would.

I agreed on a dress with the designers, my stylist by my side talking with them about what 'look' I was going for. I slipped out of the sample gown and put on my regular clothes; a large shirt tucked into the flares Christine said she hated so much.

When I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my phone, I noticed a text that had been sitting there for over an hour. It was from Ben. I'd been slightly annoyed after not hearing from him since my nomination. Everyone in my life had reached out in one way or another; with a phone call or a message, even Matt had shared a photo of us on social media with a caption gushing about how proud he was of me. But from Ben there had been nothing. Until now.

 _'What did I tell you?'_ The text read.

 _'???'_ I replied.

_'Our bet..'_

Even through my annoyance, I couldn't help but laugh. ' _Oh yeah I forgot about that.'_

_'Just know when you hear me cheering in the audience, it's not because you've won, it's because I've just bagged a thousand quid.'_

_'Lol.'_ I sent the text, stopping suddenly and reading over his message again. ' _Wait... you're going to be there?'_

 _'War Horse,'_ his reply said. _'Ade you really do need to start listening when we talk.'_

Hollywood 2012

My dress was white. Pearlescent silk with a heavy, sparkling neckline and open back. It was so long that I kept tripping over it as I paced back and forth in the hotel room, trying to practice my graceful walk, panicking that I was going to fall flat on my face.

My hair had been done, makeup finished, all that was left to do was wait. I tripped again, growling at my own feet as if they were separate from my body.

'These crystal things are so heavy,' I said, reaching up and touching the neckline of my dress. 'I feel like I'm choking.'

'They're not crystals, Adrian, they're diamonds,' said my stylist Katie. 'That's why they're so heavy.'

'What?'

'That dress is worth twenty-two-thousand dollars...'

I stared at her for a moment. 'I think I just went sick in my mouth a little bit.'

'You hold the dress up when you walk, you kick it out before you stand to pose,' she instructed, trying to distract me and calm me down.

I started pacing again, muttering to myself. 'Hold when walk, kick before stand. Hold when walk, kick before stand. Hold when...'

'Look at you,' a voice chimed behind me.

I turned to see James standing in his suit, arms open as he greeted me.

'Who let Jimmy McAvoy in here?' I said with an awkward laugh, trying to banter with him but too nervous to think of anything actually funny to say.

'You look lovely as ever,' he said, his Scottish accent a strange source of comfort to me.

'You too.'

'You're shitting yourself aren't you.'

'Yep.'

A phone began to ring. I watched my publicist answer the phone and hang up quickly before walking up to us with a smile.

'The cars are downstairs,' she said.

*

'You'll step out alone,' said Donna as we sat in the car. 'Walk the carpet, press, all that. Then we'll bring you and James together for photos, the rest of the team if we can get you all in one place.'

'Can't I do it with him?' I asked, gesturing to James' car behind us.

She shook her head. 'We don't want anything to get misconstrued.'

'He's married...'

'It doesn't matter, just best to avoid any false rumours.'

The car stopped and I was sure my heart stopped with it. And as the door opened, it felt as though I held my breath the entire way down the red carpet.

Donna lead me down the carpet, stopping me on marks so the pen of photographers could take my picture. They were shouting at me to face them, instructing me to turn around and look over my shoulder. Every few minutes, I'd feel her at my side, walking me to the next stop, like a mother ushering her child down a busy street.

We made it to the interview section; a never ending row of cameras and microphones.

'This one is a livestream so try not to swear,' she said.

I nodded, stepping up to the presenter and shaking his hand.

He turned to the camera, speaking into his microphone. 'I'm here with Best Actress nominee Adrian Bury. Adrian, this is your first time at the Oscars, how are you feeling?'

He held the mic to my lips and I laughed. 'I'm nervous. You watch this thing at home every year and dream about what it'd be like, so to actually be here is... very surreal.'

'Are you hoping to snag that win tonight?'

'Erm, hoping? Yes. Hopeful? No. There's a lot of incredible actors in my category.'

'And I have to ask you, what are you wearing tonight?'

I looked down at myself. 'A dress that costs about a year's worth of rent.'

Like she had done all night, Donna kept me moving. Talking to the presenters first before she let me anywhere near them, pulling me out of interviews before I said something stupid.

Before I knew it, I was sitting in my seat inside the theatre, staring up at the huge stage that almost seemed to sparkle. I had Carys on my right and James on my left. They reached over me to clink their drinks together as I glanced over my shoulder at the sea of people; I was among the biggest celebrities on the planet, wondering if they were all as nervous as me, if they still got nervous at all. How the hell had I managed this? I thought. I felt like an imposter, sitting in a seat that should have been for someone else, someone more famous and deserving of their place.

I allowed myself a moment to look for Ben, but I couldn't see him anywhere. I'd already had a word with myself that morning, telling myself that there was no place to get distracted by thoughts of our nonexistent relationship - tonight was about me.

*

We hadn't won Best Original Score or Best Cinematography. But still, I felt Carys reach over and squeeze my hand as they introduced the presenters of her category.

'You've got this,' I whispered.

She smiled gratefully as the presenter began to speak.

'Let's take a look at the nominations...'

They showed a clip of each film. I averted my eyes as a scene began to play of James and I acting in an intense, dramatic scene. He nudged me and laughed, taking a swig of his drink.

'And the Oscar goes to...'

Carys was still squeezing my hand, so hard I could barely feel my fingers.

'Woody Allen, Midnight in Paris.'

She let go of my hand and clapped politely, fully aware that her reaction was still being televised. I applauded too, waiting until the speech began before leaning over to her.

'I'm sorry, Caz.'

'It's okay,' she said, speaking directly into my ear. 'Did you know a woman hasn't won this category since 2007?'

I shook my head in disappointment. Though I was gutted for her, I wasn't surprised; the entire night had been a race between a handful of films, each one raking in wins as if they were the only ones nominated. It seemed unfair, but deep down I was slightly comforted by the idea that I wouldn't win, that I wouldn't have to go up on stage and speak in front of the entire world.

They announced Colin Firth. Everyone applauded as he took the stage, shiny golden statue and envelope in hand. At this point, I thought my stomach would be doing somersaults. But there was a strange sense of calm that had washed over me with every loss our film received.

He was giving a short speech on each nominee. Gushing about their immeasurable talent and impressive careers. I wondered what the hell he was going to say about me - the woman who did one film and somehow managed to fall headfirst into the Best Actress category.

There was a camera pointed at me as he began to speak. I put on a warm smile as I looked up at the stage, fighting the urge to look down the lens and put my middle finger up to my sisters watching at home.

'Adrian. A force to be reckoned with.'

The audience gave a collective chuckle. I laughed too, propping my elbow on the armrest and covering my mouth with the tips of my fingers.

'I am sure I'm not alone when I say that your raw and infinitely faceted performance of Delia in Junk captivated and moved me in a way that does not happen often.'

There was a ripple of applause, as if they were agreeing with him. It felt bizarre to think that all those people had seen my performance, maybe even liked it.

'In a short space of time, and with fewer words than most, Adrian has proven herself an indispensable presence. One that is fully deserving of this nomination.'

The clip began to play of me running through a field trying to get to James' character, crying out to him and begging him to come back. I remembered the day we filmed that scene - my lungs burning, legs shaking because I was running so fast. I'd put my all into it, struggling to speak for days afterwards because the shouting and crying had hurt my throat.

As the clip played, I sat there completely awestruck by Colin's words - a man I'd admired but never met was speaking about me so highly. That was enough, I thought, I didn't need anything else.

He continued his praise of the other actresses; veterans of the industry like Glenn Close and Viola Davis. Their beautiful performances playing out on the large screen followed by deafening applause.

'And the Oscar goes to...' he opened the envelope. 'Adrian Bury, Junk.'

I remained sat down, as if I'd forgotten my name and didn't recognise it when it was called. Everyone around me rose to their feet, cheering and clapping, reaching over to pat me on the back. Our director slipped his fingers in his mouth and whistled, while Carys screamed at me, her eyes welling up with tears.

I rose to my feet in complete shock, turning to James who brought his hand down on my shoulder and pulled me into a hug.

'What the fuck do I do?' I said.

He laughed and pulled back. 'You go up there! Go on!'

I gave Carys a kiss on the cheek, reaching out and touching everyone's hands before making my way towards the stage.

Kick when you walk, hold when you... no. That wasn't right. Hold when you walk, kick when you stand. I grabbed the dress and lifted it slightly, taking Colin's hand as he helped me up the stairs. This was happening. I was on stage at the Oscars and I was touching Colin Firth. I was kissing him on the cheeks and being handed the heavy gold statue. Not a shampoo bottle or a can of deodorant. An actual Oscar.

As I stepped up to the mic, I suddenly felt a lump in my throat. I inhaled deeply and let out a shaking breath.

'Sorry,' I said into the mic. 'I almost cried for a second there, ew.'

The audience laughed before falling into silence again.

'I know it's so cliché to get up here and say you didn't plan a speech. So I'm not going to say that, because I've been planning this speech for years.'

Another laugh. I smiled nervously.

'Thank you, so much, to The Academy. To my wonderful friend Carys for writing a character as beautiful and complex as Delia, and for trusting me with her. Thank you. To our Director Sam, producers Claudia and Simon, to all the cast and crew who made this absolute labour of love happen. To Jim,' I gestured to James as he sat beaming in the audience. 'For being the most wonderful costar and making me laugh even on the darkest days.'

I cleared my throat, looking down at the award in my hand.

'But mostly I want to dedicate this to my two beautiful sisters who are probably sitting at home screaming right now.' I laughed. 'We er... we didn't have the best time growing up. Things were hard and sometimes it felt like they were never going to get better. And the one thing I'd always say to them was 'just wait until I win my Oscar, then we'll be alright'. Well...' I held up the award. 'Rowan, Éna... we're alright.'

I could feel myself on the verge of tears. I took a sharp breath, catching a cry before it spilled over. The audience clapped and the music began to play as I took Colin's arm and exited the stage with him.

The rest of the ceremony was hectic. After leaving the stage, I was dragged into a room full of reporters where I had to stand and answer questions about my win. As soon as it was over, I'd forgotten everything I'd said. Nothing was sticking inside my head, instead everything seemed to bounce off me; my last solid memory being the moment before my name was called.

*

The ceremony ended and stars flooded the red carpet. Cameras flashed around me as I stood clutching my little gold man. I decided to name him Errol. I didn't know why, exactly. But it stuck.

Donna lead me to the car, climbing in after me and closing the door. It was so quiet, I almost couldn't stand it.

'Congratulations,' she said.

'Thanks,' I replied, sitting Errol in my lap. 'I'm still not sure what the fuck just happened.'


	10. After Party

Hollywood 2012

We arrived at the Vanity Fair after party to more pictures, more interviews, more noise. Everything had been a blur, I hadn't given thought to anything except where I was being taken next. But as Donna guided me down the red carpet, I noticed him.

Ben was giving an interview. Smiling and laughing in his sleek black suit, his dark hair styled neatly to one side. I caught his eye as I walked past, waving subtly but unable to stop. He seemed distracted for a moment, his eyes following me as I walked by before shaking it off and returning to his conversation.

The after party was bustling with an excited energy. Hours went by as music played and celebrities mingled and celebrated, a different person approaching me every few minutes to congratulate me. I glugged down another glass of champagne, placing the empty glass on the table and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

'I'll take that grand by bank transfer. Or cash, I'm not picky.'

I turned around to see him standing there, smirking down at me as he nodded towards my award on the table.

I dropped my head and laughed. 'Do you accept cheques?'

He chuckled, leaning in and kissing me politely on the cheek. 'Congratulations. I'm so unbelievably proud of you.'

'Thank you. Do you like him? His name's Errol.'

'Errol?'

'Yeah. Would you like a hold?' I teased.

We kept trying to talk. But the interruptions were relentless; cameras in our faces, fellow actors and actresses interjecting and making small talk. But through it all, he remained by my side, always making sure to return to our conversation.

When we were alone again, he opened his mouth to speak but stopped quickly, looking around before leaning in close.

'I've been dying to talk to you about... everything,' he said.

I took another champagne from a waiter with a tray, sipping on it and glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one could hear us.

'It's just,' he continued. 'I've been working nonstop and I just couldn't do it over the phone. It's so impersonal, texts can be misconstrued...'

'Okay,' I said. 'So let's talk now.'

'We can't. Not here.'

'Well then where shall we go?'

'Go? We can't- what do you mean 'go'?'

'If we can't talk here then let's go somewhere where we can.'

He laughed and shook his head. 'Ade, this is your night. Don't waste it on me.'

'I won the Oscar, what else is there to do?'

'You... you really want to go?'

I nodded. 'I mean, if you're not ready to leave then it's fine-'

'No, I... hold on a minute.'

He walked away, hurrying through the crowd and disappearing amongst the sea of gowns and suits.

'Adrian!' A voice called out.

I turned around, my heart almost falling to my stomach when I saw a woman standing in front of me; grey hair swept into an updo, gold dress draped across her shoulders.

I was awestruck. Lost for words.

'You are beautiful, just incredible. Congratulations, darling, you really deserve it.'

'I... Holy shit you're Meryl Streep.'

She laughed. 'Indeed I am.'

'I-I'm such a big fan.'

'And I'm a big fan of yours too.'

'You are?'

She nodded.

Ben reappeared at my side, about to speak when he noticed her standing there. I'd never seen him starstruck before, his bright blue eyes wide with shock.

'Meryl... it's such a pleasure,' he said in his smooth, rich voice, completely disguising his nerves. 'I'm a huge fan.'

'Well we all seem to be fans of each other,' she laughed.

Her assistant walked up and spoke in her ear. She looked back at us and smiled before patting me on the arm and walking away.

'Meryl fucking Streep just said my name.' I picked up Errol and kissed him. 'I love this thing.'

He laughed, placing a hand on the small of my back and leaning in to speak quietly. 'My publicist is having them bring a car around.'

I nodded.

'You should probably go and tell your team that you're leaving...'

'Oh.'

Donna was sitting nearby on her phone, my bag on the seat beside her. I picked it up and sat down.

'I'm leaving,' I said.

'Oh, okay let me organise the car-'

'No I'm, er, I'm leaving _with_ someone.'

She seemed concerned, her eyes scanning the room. 'Okay...'

'So, I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Can I just... go?'

'I'll have to come with you. There's a lot of paparazzi outside.'

I nodded, looking over to Ben who was heading for the exit, an older blonde woman in tow.

We stepped outside to an onslaught of flashing cameras. I kept my eyes on the ground as I walked beside Ben, Donna and his publicist following close behind. We climbed into a car and exhaled together, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

'So what's the story then?' asked Donna as the car began to drive.

I furrowed my brow. 'Hm?'

'Tomorrow when the media share pictures of you two leaving together, what's the story?'

Ben's publicist nodded in agreement. 'She's right. Is this a 'no comment' sort of situation or should we prepare some sort of statement?'

'We're just two friends leaving a party...' I said.

'You're two celebrities walking out of an after party together at one o'clock in the morning,' said Donna bluntly.

*

He unlocked the hotel room door and pushed it open for me to step inside. I walked in, my mouth falling open as I laid eyes on the large, luxurious room.

'How the hell did you get such a nice hotel?' I asked as I wandered around touching everything. 'I'm staying in the worst place ever yet you somehow managed to get this!?'

There was a large window overlooking LA, the skyline glittering through the dark. I walked up to it and placed my hand on the glass.

'I'm sure yours isn't that bad,' he said.

'Ben, it's a box with carpet.'

He laughed. 'I have a feeling you'll be staying in much nicer places from now on.'

'Mm. I need to practice my 'don't you know who I am!?' voice.'

He appeared at my side looking out the window. We stood in silence for a while admiring the view before I eventually cleared my throat and looked up at him.

'So... is this what you meant when you said you wanted to _talk_?'

He laughed. 'Shall we have a drink?'

There was a couch near the window, a small bar built into the wall nearby. I sat down and watched as he mixed us some drinks. He picked up a lime to slice and grimaced when he realised it was plastic. I giggled.

He carried the glasses over and handed me one before sitting down and shifting his body to face me.

'I'm sorry,' he began. 'I felt like such a dick after what happened that night. Kissing you and then practically disappearing, it was a shitty thing to do.'

I sipped my drink and shook my head. 'It was a spur of the moment thing, and we were already so busy. The timing was just bad, that's all.'

'But that's what I didn't want. It's why I stopped it from going further; I always thought if I ever got to act on my feelings for you, then I'd at least know where we stood with each other afterwards.'

I paused. 'So, where _do_ we stand?'

'I don't know.'

'Well... where do you _want_ to stand?'

'I don't know.' He breathed out a laugh. 'I'm not much help, am I?'

'Not really.'

'Adrian, I like you. But I don't want to complicate anything or make things weird between us if you don't...'

'If I don't what? Feel the same?'

'Yeah.'

'Well, I think it's pretty obvious I do.' I sighed. 'I just don't know what that means when tomorrow we both go off and don't see each other for months again.'

We sat in silence for a moment, sipping our drinks and swirling the ice in our glasses.

'I don't think I can wait that long,' he said.

I looked up from my glass, catching his eyes as he stared down at me.

'I haven't stopped thinking about you, Ade,' he continued. 'It's been killing me.'

My heart fluttered and I felt a grin forming. I stifled it, taking a breath before speaking. 'So what do you want to do, then?' 

He paused for a moment. 'Can I kiss you?'

I nodded.

He shuffled closer and placed his hand on my cheek, leaning in and kissing me gently.

He broke away and looked at me. 'I did that _before_ you won the Oscar, so you can't accuse me of gold-digging.'

I dropped my head and laughed quietly, my palms resting on his chest.

He put his hand on the back of my neck and kissed me again before sighing against my lips. 'When do you go back to London?'

'Tuesday morning.'

'Does that mean you're free tomorrow? I'm not back in the studio until tomorrow night, we could... spend the day together?'

'That sounds good.'

'Good.' He smiled.

I moved closer, my hand on his thigh as we continued to kiss. Our breaths grew heavier, our bodies pressing together yet no matter how close we were, it never seemed close enough.

'We better stop before you break your 'no sex' rule,' I said.

'I don't mind breaking the rules.'

I laughed. 'How drunk are you right now?'

'Not very.'

'Okay then.' I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck as my lips found his again.

*

I woke slowly, my eyes heavy with crystals of sleep and leftover makeup. I lifted my face from the pillow, squinting as I gazed out the window at the LA morning, the sun gleaming over the tops of buildings in an almost cloudless sky.

I felt an arm drape over my waist and rolled over to see Ben sleeping beside me, the gentle sounds of slumber escaping his parted lips. Usually by now, I would have climbed out of bed, dressed quietly and crept away before he woke. It was what I'd done with every man I'd been with since Matt. Yet now, I found myself lying there, running my fingers through his sleep tousled hair and smiling as he tightened his hold on me.

He began to fidget, fighting sleep to open his eyes.

'Sorry,' I whispered. 'I didn't mean to wake you.'

He shook his head and curled into me. 'Have you been up long?'

'Mm ages.'

He gave a croaky laugh.

I smirked before looking over at the clock on the bedside table. 'Bloody hell, I think this is the latest I've slept in months.'

He sat up with a grumble, eyes still heavy, hair sticking up at his crown as he glanced at the time. 'God, says something when 9am is considered a lie in.'

I wiped my eyes, looking down with a grimace at the remnants of last night's makeup smudged on my fingers.

'I don't even want to know what I look like right now,' I said.

'Beautiful,' he replied.

I smiled appreciatively before looking around the room, at my dress laid carefully over the chair in the corner, the throws and decorative cushions scattered around the floor.

'Mind if I use your bathroom?'

'Sure.'

I got up, covering my breast awkwardly with my arm as I made my way through to the ensuite. I swilled my mouth with mouthwash and ran my fingers through my hair as a dull ache began to form in my forehead. I was good with hangovers, usually able to shake them off after a shower and a cup of coffee.

I turned around to the large shower that took up the length of the wall. It was fancy, with marbled tiles and a heavy glass door. His hotel really was nicer than mine. I stood staring at it for a moment, chewing my lip as I tried to work out how to turn it on.

'Shower problems?' he shouted from the bedroom.

'Yeah.'

There was a tapping on the door.

'Come in.'

He stepped into the bathroom and chuckled, opening the shower door and leaning over me to turn the awkward dial. Water burst from the overhead attachment and he held his hand under the water, testing the temperature before gesturing for me to get in.

'Thanks,' I said.

'No problem,' he replied.

We stood there for a moment, looking at each other as steam rose from the shower floor. I turned my back and climbed in, leaving the glass door open and glancing back at him one last time before closing my eyes and letting the water run over my face.

I smiled to myself when I heard the door close, feeling his chest against my back as he reached over my shoulder for the shampoo.

...

'So, any possibility that I could have some clothes brought here?' I asked as I held my phone to my ear. 'I don't think it's a good look leaving a hotel the next morning in my Oscars gown.'

My manager paused for a second. 'Yes, absolutely,' she replied cheerfully. 'Stay put and I'll send one of the guys with some stuff.'

With every day that went by, I grew more and more grateful that Chris had convinced me to form a team. I had a stylist, publicist, assistants and now my manager Mira. She had taken over everything, running my life as if it were a well-oiled machine. Her only obstacle, however, had been me. I would forget to run things by her, agree to attend events without consulting her, make statements without PR looking over them first. I imagined her rolling her eyes when she found out I hadn't returned to my hotel the night before, tearing her hair out and cursing me as she got to work trying to keep my whereabouts a secret from the press.

She had a bag sent to Ben's room full of new clothes with the tags still on. Someone had been shopping for me and I felt guilty for making them go to the trouble. I pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of trousers, grabbed a denim jacket from the bag and waited on the couch.

Ben had been in the bedroom on the phone to his manager. I wondered what he was telling them, if he mentioned me or if he had decided to keep the whole thing secret.

When he walked into the room, he gave a smile and pushed his hands into his pockets.

'Shall we?' he said.

'Just like that?' I replied with a laugh. 'Aren't you worried someone will see us?'

'I have a car downstairs. We should be able to slip out.'

*

I hadn't had breakfast. My stomach was churning with hunger as I sat in the passenger seat, eyeing the rows of cafés and restaurants as we drove by. Ben kept his hands on the wheel, weaving the sleek sports car carefully through the traffic.

'When you said you'd been renting a car,' I began. 'I was expecting a little Honda or something.'

He laughed. 'This was sort of a self-indulgence, I must admit.'

'Oh god don't tell me you're a petrol head.'

'Why? Is that a deal breaker?' he joked.

'I just don't get what's so exciting about a piece of metal on wheels.'

We turned onto a long, empty road. He put his foot down on the accelerator, propelling the car forward and forcing my body back against the seat.

'Ben!'

He slowed back down and giggled to himself, glancing across to me with a smirk.

'You fuck.' I clutched my chest dramatically, breathing out a laugh.

'See, it's exciting.'

We ate together in a small café as people glanced and stared in our direction. No one approached us, but it was hard to ignore the subtle flashing of phone cameras, the mumbling and whispering as people gathered outside to peer in at us through the window. I felt ridiculous sitting inside with a pair of sunglasses on, as if I were Clark Kent, somehow believing they could hide my identity.

'What's next then?' he asked as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

'What do you mean?'

'For you. Academy Award winner Adrian Bury. What's next?'

I laughed, unsure if I'd ever get used to the title. 'I don't know. Independent stuff, big blockbusters, action, horror, drama, comedy; I want to do everything.'

'What about Sherlock? If they ask you back for the next season...'

'Pfft, of course. I'd do Sherlock forever.'

'Good.'

'And you? Are you actually going to take my advice and slow down a bit?'

'Not a chance.'

I laughed.

'Mm,' he looked up at the ceiling as if he were thinking. 'I've got one film in post production, one currently filming, there's four in preproduction for later this year, a couple of documentaries and a TV script just arrived on my agent's desk which I think I'm going to take too.'

'Fucking hell.'

He shrugged with a half smile. 'What can I say? I love what I do.'

'Hopefully you can find time in that schedule somewhere for a date or two...'

'I'm sure I'll be able to fit you in for a quick catch up... maybe.' He teased.

...

Even in February, the sun was warm. We had driven around for a while, talking and sightseeing through the tinted windows of the car, until finally we pulled up in a quiet spot surrounded by tall buildings. We climbed out and began to walk.

'I used to live down here. Just a block over in that one there.' I pointed to the roof of a large building, the top of my old apartment just visible behind it. 'It's weird. You'd think being here would feel like... coming home. But it doesn't.'

'Were you unhappy here?'

I shook my head. 'No. Actually I was really happy. It just... it never felt like this was where I was supposed to be, y'know? I realise now that the only thing keeping me here was Matt; he was kind of like a peg holding down a tent. When we broke up, it was like pulling the peg out - suddenly there was nothing keeping me in place anymore.'

I turned to see him looking at me, listening to my every word.

'Sorry,' I laughed. 'Probably not great to talk about my ex.'

'It's fine.' He smiled. 'You're still friends, aren't you?'

'We are. He actually sent me this message after my win last night...'

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone preparing to show him the funny text. But instead, I noticed another. 

_'Take it you had a fun night?'_

It was from Éna. Below it was a link to a newspaper website. I clicked on it and immediately rolled my eyes, stopping on the spot and letting out a huff.

'What's the matter?' asked Ben as he stopped beside me.

I held up my phone and showed him the article. He lifted his sunglasses, his eyes skimming across it quickly until he began to read aloud.

'The Sherlock costars Cumberbatch, 35 and Bury, 31 were spotted leaving the Vanity Fair after party together in the early hours of the morning. This has led fans to speculate that the two may be- Are they joking? It hasn't even been 24 hours and people are already 'speculating'?'

'Good thing we decided to go for a walk around Hollywood together... in broad daylight,' I said sarcastically.

'Mm.'

'It's fine, Ben. We're friends. Friends are allowed to spend time together.'

'Friends, hm?'

' _Friends_ who will hopefully get the chance to go on a few dates when one of those _friends_ gets back from filming his big space movie...'

He laughed to himself and slipped the sunglasses back over his eyes.

I took him to my old building where we walked around the quiet neighbourhood; I showed him the places I used to jog, the deli where I would buy my breakfast. He was good at asking questions, showing interest in things that even I found boring. I wondered if things would go quiet between us again when we parted ways, if after another couple of months apart he'd still feel same.


	11. Skeletons

London 2012

Since my win, I'd done so many photo shoots that I'd almost lost count. Elle, Glamour, Harper's Bazaar, GQ. It had become easy; second nature to stand in front of the camera and pose, like my modelling experience was finally coming in handy. But the last one was different. Partly because the shoot was more elaborate than anything I'd done before, but mostly because it was for Vogue. Me. In _Vogue_. I'd done nothing but snort-laugh since finding out, as if I'd somehow managed to pull off the biggest hustle of all time.

We wrapped the shoot and I changed back into my normal clothes, turning around and eyeing myself in the mirror before I left. The ripped jeans and old jumper paired with heavy, glamorous makeup and perfectly styled hair. I couldn't help but let out a laugh.

The accompanying interview had gone well. I'd gotten used to being asked the same questions by every journalist I spoke to; when did you first get into acting? How did you feel when you won the Oscar? What is your dream role? I'd sometimes be thrown off guard by a question about my addiction, or about my sisters and their choice of careers. But one thing that never came up was Ben.

After the photo of us from the after party made its way into every tabloid and gossip column, we chose to stay quiet. To let it blow over and be forgotten about as soon as the next big celebrity scandal hit. Donna got to work anyway, briefing every interviewer and sending them a list of off-limits questions before they even got to meet me. On the top of that list she had simply written: Benedict Cumberbatch.

Two months had passed since that night, and yet I could still see the desire to ask about it etched on my interviewer's face. She had been skirting around it, asking me about my work on Sherlock, if I would like to work with my costars again, each question getting closer and closer to a territory that would have Donna end the interview and snatch me away.

But this was Vogue. I wanted to seem interesting, aloof, so when she asked me if I was seeing anyone, I shrugged with a smile.

'Oh you know how it is,' I said. 'When you're in the public eye, everything you do, you do with millions of eyes on you. Something as personal as a romantic relationship... I don't think I'd want eyes on that.'

'So you're saying even if you were seeing someone, we wouldn't know?'

'Well it's good to have _some_ secrets,' I replied with a smile.

*

London was busy, the roads chocker with traffic, the pavements swarming with people. The good thing about London is how no one cares who you are. The business people wrapped up in phone calls, the tourists engrossed by the landmarks and attractions. The current of people so thick and fast that even if someone recognises you, they're usually swept away before they can take a second glance.

I walked into an apartment complex and rang the buzzer for my sisters' flat, waiting with my hand on the door.

'Fuck off, we're not letting you in,' a voice sounded through the call box.

I laughed and put my middle finger up to the small camera, waiting a moment before I heard the beep and the click of the door.

When I got into their flat, I walked straight through to the small balcony at the back, stepping out and lighting a cigarette as they joined me at the door.

'Sorry, stressful morning,' I said.

'Ugh, being an actress is so hard,' said Rowan sarcastically.

'Well last week I flew to America for an audition which I _thought_ was going really well. That was until the casting director asked if I'd be okay with them making me look more 'ethnically ambiguous'. Turns out the role was actually intended for a Latin-American woman but instead they thought they'd just hire me and make me look like one. Needless to say, the meeting ended with me calling him a fucking racist and storming out. So yeah, not always the best job in the world.'

'You're going to give your PR lady a heart attack,' said Éna.

'I can't help it,' I laughed. 'I have this really acute aversion to dick heads.'

I slid my phone out of my pocket and glanced at the time.

'So Row,' I continued. 'What did you want to talk to me about?'

'Well after that lovely story I don't think I'll bother,' she replied.

'What do you mean?'

She sighed. 'I've been offered an audition.'

'Ooh what musical? Is it ensemble again? A bigger part?'

'It's actually for a TV show.' She paused. 'In America.'

I let the smoke leave my lips slowly as I stared across at her.

'I know, it's like history repeating itself,' she joked awkwardly. 'I just, I don't know what to do. I've never done telly before, I've never _wanted_ to.'

'Well what's the role?'

'It's a season-long storyline in The Walking Dead.'

'Jesus Christ Rowan, that's a big deal!'

'Calm down, it's just an audition.'

'I told her she should go,' said Éna.

'Well of course she should go,' I replied.

'You really think I should?'

'Yes!'

'It's just... if I get the part, I'd be moving away. Just like you did. And we all remember how hard that was...' she trailed off, glancing towards Éna.

'Don't you dare turn down an opportunity because of me,' she replied. 'Look at me, I'm good. I've got money in the bank, a job I really like, I've been wanting to get a flat of my own for ages anyway.'

'So you really think I should go?'

'Yes!' We both shouted.

'Okay,' she laughed. 'I probably won't get it anyway.'

'That's the spirit,' I replied sarcastically.

Éna clapped her hands together and gasped. 'We should have a drink to celebrate. We've still got that champagne from Ade's Oscar night.'

I looked up at the sky. The sun was dropping below the skyline, casting a dull, blue light over London. I took out my phone and checked it again.

'Mm sorry, I can't stay.'

Rowan eyed me for a moment before folding her arms and leaning against the doorframe. 'There's a dick somewhere with her name on it, you can tell.'

Éna turned to look at me and shook her head. 'Despicable,' she scoffed.

'Do you know what,' I said, holding my hands up. 'Yes there is and I'm not even sorry.'

'You going to admit it's Benedict yet?' asked Rowan.

'Nope,' I replied as I made my way back through the flat.

'Adrian, you know we know it's him.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

*

I drove around for what felt like forever, searching for somewhere to park that wouldn't get me a ticket. By the time I found somewhere, the night had crept in, turning the sky black and illuminating the streets with orange lamplight. I pulled up down a narrow side street and checked my phone again. It was half past nine. Surely he would be back by now.

I left my car and walked around the corner, looking over my shoulders every few moments as I climbed the steps to a town house and knocked on the door. My heart was racing but I couldn't put my finger on why; perhaps it was the excitement of seeing him for the first time in months, or maybe it was the fear of someone else seeing _us._

The door opened with a creak and I smiled as Ben peered his head around it. He stepped back and let me inside, shutting it quickly and turning to look at me.

'Hi,' he said.

'Hi.'

We stepped towards each other and fell into a kiss, his hands on my waist as I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck. He pulled me closer, almost lifting me off the ground as he smiled beneath my lips.

'I've been so looking forward to seeing you,' he whispered breathlessly.

'Me too,' I whispered back before kissing him again.

He could sense where my mind was going, in the way I pressed my body against his, took his hair in my fists. But instead of going with it, he pulled away gently.

'As much as I'd love to...' he began. 'I could really do with a shower first.' He grimaced and pinched his T-shirt between his finger and thumb, as if he were peeling it from his body. 'I'm all plane-y.'

'Plane-y,' I replied with a laugh. 'I know that feeling.'

He laughed and gestured down the hall. 'Make yourself comfortable, I won't be a minute.'

He disappeared up the stairs, leaving me flustered and breathless in the hall. I glanced down at his bags that had been dumped on the floor, the airport labels around each handle. I wandered down towards the living room, letting out a laugh when I switched on the light. In the corner of the room stood a Christmas tree. A signpost of just how long he had been away from home.

I didn't know why I assumed he'd have people to come in and take it down for him. People who would let themselves in every now and again, plump pillows and stock the cupboards like it were some sort of show home. But I could tell it had gone untouched. There was a book on the coffee table, a blanket strewn messily across the couch. I was in Benedict Cumberbatch's living room. The thought almost made me feel shy.

Around twenty minutes passed before he joined me downstairs. He walked into the living room, fresh clothes and damp hair, giggling when he saw me knelt on the floor.

'What are you doing?' he asked.

'I'm taking down your tree,' I replied as I continued to dismantle the artificial branches and slot them away into a box. 'Y'know, what with it being April and all.'

'Where did you get the box?'

'I made an educated guess as to where it would be.'

''First time in my house and you're already snooping.'

'Mm, just making sure there's no skeletons.'

'Oh there's plenty of skeletons, not sure I want to scare you off with those just yet.'

I laughed softly.

I had skeletons too. The kind that clung to me like chains, bones rattling whenever I tried to take a breath. If he feared he could scare me away with his, I dreaded to think what mine would do to him.

'Leave that for now,' he said. 'Do you want a drink?'

'I'm driving.'

'I can make you a cup of tea...'

'Sure.' I smiled.

I followed him into the kitchen and leaned against the counter.

'Oh...' he said. 'I forget I've been gone since December.'

I looked over at the empty teabag box in his hand and laughed.

He rummaged through the cupboards as he spoke. 'So no tea, but I can give you tap water or... whiskey, apparently.'

I laughed again and gave a shrug. 'Fuck it, one won't hurt.'

We sat down together in the living room and talked. About our favourite books and films, the music we liked and countries we wanted to visit. We talked about everything except work - no mention of paparazzi or the media, of acting jobs or star studded events. For once, we were able to just exist in each other's company, and it was bliss.

But the more I talked to him, the more I realised just how much I liked him. And the weight of my skeletons began to crush me.

We went into the back garden for a smoke. I stood with my drink in hand, finding myself charmed by the way he held the cigarette between his lips, how he spoke in a low, hushed voice that only I could hear.

'I like it here,' he said. 'But I don't know if I'd want to stay forever.'

'I think it's nice. I mean, I haven't seen upstairs yet but- wait, I didn't mean _yet_ like I'm expecting to see upstairs...'

He chuckled quietly. 'I could give you a tour if you're really that desperate to see it.'

'Shut up.' I batted his arm. 'I misspeak when I'm nervous, alright?'

'Why are you nervous?'

'Why do you think?'

I looked up at him through my eyelashes, a slight smile in the corner of my mouth. He stifled a smirk and took the drink from my hand, placing it on the window ledge beside us and moving closer to me. He leaned in to kiss me, placing his hands either side of my head to pull me in. I ran a hand through the back of his fluffy, freshly-washed hair, taking in the scent of his soap, the taste of whiskey and cigarettes on his tongue.

'We should go inside,' he said quietly. 'Away from prying eyes.'

He gestured to the neighbouring houses surrounding the garden. I nodded and followed him inside, only making it as far as the kitchen counter before his lips were on mine again. I felt his hands beneath my jumper, caressing my bare skin and leaving goosebumps wherever he touched. He wanted me, and I wanted him. But suddenly, the crushing feeling returned. I pulled away, panting to catch my breath and resting my forehead against his.

'You know earlier when we joked about having skeletons in the closet and all that?' I said.

'Mhm?'

'Well, my closet is more like a... giant warehouse. Y'know, so many skeletons you need a forklift to get around the place.'

He breathed out a laugh. But his face straightened when he saw I wasn't laughing too.

'Okay...?' he replied cautiously.

'I just feel like there's some things you need to know about me before deciding whether you want to... _do_ me.'

He laughed again, this time I allowed myself to chuckle too.

'It's a bit late for that, isn't it?' he said.

'Do me... again.'

'Ah. Well, go on, I'm listening.'

'Can we go and sit down?'

He took my hand and walked us back to the living room, sitting down and turning his body towards me. His blue eyes were glittering in the lamplight, every last drop of focus pouring into me.

'I'm a recovered drug addict.' I said bluntly.

I waited for him to say something, my heart thumping harder with every second of silence.

'How long have you been clean?' he asked casually.

I stammered for a moment, taken aback by his positivity. 'A-er-about ten years.'

'That's incredible.' He smiled.

I raised an eyebrow.

'Ade, I know about all that stuff. I read about it in that interview you did with the Times.'

'Fucking Times,' I muttered to myself. 'Okay but you don't know the extent of it. Or why I ended up in that situation in the first place.'

'Well tell me.'

I sighed. 'You know that scene between Sherlock and Margaux right before they kiss? When Sherlock says all that stuff about her being emancipated from her parents or whatever it is?'

He nodded.

'Well, that was based on me.'

'What?'

'They were looking for a backstory for Margaux and I suggested they use mine.'

He furrowed his brow and leaned in slightly to show he was listening.

'My parents were on and off constantly, violent with each other, addicts, alcoholics. Moved us down to London from Liverpool when social workers started sniffing around. Dad fucked off not long after, left us with an emotionally abusive mother who saw us as burdens. Made our lives hell. So when I was fifteen, I filed for emancipation. Had to leave my sisters with her for three years until I was old enough to seek guardianship of them.'

'Jesus,' he muttered.

'So... with no parents, no money and no clue what I'm doing, I'm suddenly the guardian of my two younger siblings. And after years of psychological torture, I develop a drug habit that almost kills me, my youngest sister develops an eating disorder that almost kills _her,_ and my other sister is too scared to do anything for herself because she's so terrified of something bad happening if she leaves.'

He let out a sigh, unsure of what to say.

'I just... I feel like that's the kind of thing you need to tell someone before you let them get too close. I'm not saying this is _going_ anywhere but... if it did, it's only fair you know.' I shifted awkwardly. 'Ben, I don't know what a _normal_ Christmas looks like, I was nineteen when I blew out a set of birthday candles for the first time, my childhood photos could fit inside a single envelope. If I were to get married, my husband wouldn't have in-laws...'

I intended to keep going, but he stopped me, placing his hand on the side of my face and shaking his head.

'Do you think any of that makes me want to stop seeing you?' he said.

'I hope it doesn't. But I think it'd be unfair to let this go any further without being honest about it all.'

He thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. 'I appreciate you telling me, that you trust me enough to talk about it. But the idea that you need to give me a _disclaimer_ is... ridiculous.'

I rested my cheek in the palm of his hand.

'I don't think I stopped thinking about you once for that entire flight home. I've been away for four months and the first thing I wanted to do when I got back was-'

'Me.'

' _See_ you,' he chuckled. 'I left you alone for twenty minutes and you started taking down my Christmas tree for fuck sake. Why would I run from someone like that?'

I pushed out my bottom lip and he smiled, pulling me close enough to kiss me gently.

'You could give me that tour now... if you like?' I smirked, glancing up at the ceiling.

He got up off the couch and reached out his hand. I took it, letting him pull me to feet and lead me out of the room.


	12. A Woman Called Jane

London 2012 

I stood in front of a row of photographers with my sisters by my side. They were always jokingly moaning about the fact that I never took them to things; saying I was embarrassed of them, hoarding the glitz and glam to myself. So I invited them to a charity event. Something I knew would play host to some of the biggest celebrities and famous faces and hopefully shut them up, at least for a while.

I glanced either side of me, thinking back to our childhood and the horrible things we had been through, wondering how the hell the three of us had managed to land on our feet. They were so beautiful, so comfortable and confident as the cameras flashed and photographers shouted, it was hard to believe they were the same girls from those memories. The scrawny, scared children I would share a bed with in the small room of a council house, huddling together and whispering about a day when we could run away.

We sat at a table with my publicist Donna and my manager Mira. For two small women, they functioned like body guards; always alert, always looking around, ready to put themselves between me and anyone who tried to approach and grill them about why they wanted to talk to me.

'Oh my god that's Jude Law,' said Rowan as she stared over her shoulder at him. 'Have you ever met him? Is he single?'

'Row, I'm pretty sure he's like... twice your age,' I replied.

'So?'

'You say that like he'd even be interested in you,' said Éna.

'Why are you trying to crush my dream?'

'What? The dream you created two seconds ago?'

I laughed, taking a sip of my drink and putting it down on the table. 'Would you two be okay if I went for a walk around? I think I see someone I know.'

'Yeah go, we'll be fine.'

I stood up and walked across the room, tapping a man on the shoulder and smiling as he turned around.

'It _is_ you,' I said cheerfully as he pulled me into a hug.

'Adrian, my god, so nice to see you!' he replied.

The world had come to know Eddie Redmayne as a fine actor, an 'up-and-comer' in the industry. But I called him an old friend. We hadn't seen each other for a long time; if it wasn't for my appearances on screen, I wasn't even sure he would have recognised me.

'You haven't changed a bit,' I said, gesturing to his awkward, jittery stance.

'No? Oh dear.' He laughed.

'How weird is this? That we've both ended up doing this for a living.'

'I know! So nice to see things going so well for you though. Congratulations on the Oscar by the way.'

'Oh, thanks. And congratulations to you on Richard II! I read some reviews, you seem to have gone down well.'

He wiped his brow, pretending to let out a relieved sigh before a hand came down on his back. He turned around and opened his arms.

'Ah, hello mate, how are you doing!?'

My eyes widened as I finally got a glimpse of the person he was hugging.

'Benedict, this is Adrian- oh wait, you know each other don't you?'

I noticed Ben's eyebrows raise as he looked down at me, equally as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

'Y-yeah...' I said. 'We do Sherlock together, don't we.'

We reached for each other, leaning in for a polite kiss on the cheek.

'How are you?' I asked.

'I'm good,' he replied. 'How are you?'

I was almost certain I saw a slight smirk twitch at the corner of his mouth.

'I had no idea you were going to be here...' I said, my tone oozing with subtext.

'I had no idea you were going to be here either.'

'So what er, what have you been up to recently?'

He dropped his head for a moment, this time the smile was undeniable. 'Oh you know me, always busy.' He brought his eyes up to meet mine. 'We should... catch up.'

'Yeah, sounds nice.'

'You know what, _we_ should catch up too,' said Eddie as he patted me on the shoulder.

'Yes! Absolutely.'

'So you two... know each other?' asked Ben.

'Mhm. Uni,' I replied with a nod.

' _Uni_? Really?'

'Same year. I did Lit and Film and he did...'

'Art History,' Eddie finished.

'We met at this student theatre group thing, ended up at a few TV auditions together too.'

'Yeah,' he continued. 'This is the first time I've seen you in... what is it? Eight- nine years?'

'Mm.' I nodded. 'Seems like a lifetime ago. And what about you two? How long have you been friends?'

'A few years now I think?' said Ben. 'We were just texting the other day.'

'Oh yeah,' Eddie replied, raising his index finger as he spoke. 'How's that woman you were with last time I saw you? Jane, was it?'

My eyes flitted to Ben with a raised brow. 'Jane?'

'Oh, I, er...'

A woman joined us at Eddie's side. She was pretty with long blonde hair. He put his arm around her. 'Guys this is my girlfriend Hannah.'

'Oh hi, lovely to meet you,' said Ben eagerly, clearly trying to move the conversation on.

She and Eddie began to talk as I took a step closer to Ben.

'Jane...?' I said again, more quietly.

He shot me a look.

I shook my head and painted a smile on my face. 'Anyway,' I said cheerfully. 'I better get back. My sisters are here with me and I've completely abandoned them.'

'Oh they are?' said Ben, looking past me to our table. 'I'd love to meet them.'

'Probably not now,' I muttered, too quiet for the couple to hear.

I turned around and began to walk away, feeling a tug on my arm. I stopped and looked up at him.

'Adrian...'

'It's fine.' I shrugged. 'We never said we were exclusive.'

He stood in the middle of the room, flustered and shifting on his feet as I returned to my table. I sat down and picked up my drink, downing it in one.

*

I'd donned a hat and a pair of sunglasses, my body swimming inside a large waterproof jacket. The airport was bustling, so crowded it was easy for me to blend in. But still, people recognised me, standing close by and taking pictures of me on their phones.

Rowan hoisted her bag on her shoulder and took a deep breath, taking a moment to look at each of us before pulling us into a hug.

'I can cancel this,' she said.

'Will you shut up?' Éna replied. 'We're all good. It's about time you did something wild.'

'But what if I actually get the part? I don't know if I can live so far away from you both.'

'It's horrible, but I did it,' I said. 'And it was the best thing I could have done. I mean, imagine this... if all goes well for you, in a few years _you_ might have to wear a disguise in the airport too.'

She laughed, grabbing me by the arms and shaking me gently. 'I'll call you both when I land.'

'Don't. I'm looking forward to a break from your voice,' said Éna.

'Hate you.'

'Hate you too.'

'Hate both of you,' I said. 'Now go on, before you miss your bloody flight.'

We hugged her one last time and waved her off as she walked through security, the pair of us refusing to move until we could no longer see her.

I let out a long, exaggerated sigh and stuffed my hands in my pockets. 'Come on then.'

We walked back to the car in silence. I didn't feel like talking, the pit in my stomach too heavy for me to focus on anything else. I unlocked the car and slid inside, throwing my head back against the headrest and taking off my sunglasses.

Éna got in beside me, pulling the passenger door shut and twisting around to face me. 'So are you going to tell me what's bothering you?'

'What do you mean what's bothering me? I just said goodbye to Rowan-'

'No, there's something else. This mood you've been in all day, it's about more than just Rowan.'

I looked at her for a moment before rolling my eyes and looking away again.

'You know, you always pry into our issues, always insist on knowing what's wrong. But when the tables turn, you're like a closed book.' She huffed. 'I'm not a child anymore, Ade, you don't have to keep secrets from me.'

I placed my hands on the steering wheel, squeezing it in frustration before letting out a breath and relaxing my shoulders.

'Okay fine,' I said. 'I've been seeing someone-'

'Benedict.'

'And I thought things were going really well, but now I think I might have misinterpreted the relationship-'

'The relationship with Benedict Cumberbatch.'

'Éna,' I said sternly.

'Oh for fuck sake, Ade. It's obvious you've been seeing him! I don't know why you won't just come out and say it, it's not like I'm going to sell a story on you.'

'Alright, fine. Well, things have been going really well. He's been so great, I love spending time with him, he's the first person since Matt that I've actually seen myself _being_ with. But at the event last night, a friend of ours asked him how things were going with another woman.'

She winced. 'Eurgh. That's a bit shit.'

'Yeah exactly. Now I don't know what to do.'

'You talk to him.'

'It's hard, Éna. We barely get to see each other as it is with work and travelling and everything else. It's not really the sort of conversation you want to have over text.'

'Well he was there last night. So surely that means he's still in London right now?'

'Yeah, probably shagging miss Jane as we speak.'

She held her finger up at me. 'Don't do that to yourself.'

'I'm joking. But... if it really was nothing then why hasn't he called me? Surely if it was a misunderstanding he'd want to nip it in the-'

My phone began to ring. Éna raised an eyebrow, the pair of us looking at each other for a moment before I pulled it from my pocket.

'It's him, isn't it...' she said.

I nodded.

'Answer it. I'll cover my ears.'

I rolled my eyes and lifted the phone. 'Hello?'

'Hi, are you still in London?'

'Where else would I be?'

'Stop being a bitch,' Éna hissed.

I covered the phone and turned to her. 'You said you weren't going to eavesdrop.'

He was stammering as I brought the phone back to my ear. 'I- I don't know,' he said. 'I thought you might've been off somewhere for work.'

'No, I'm home for a few weeks.'

'Oh, good, well do you want to meet up later?'

I didn't respond.

'Ade?'

'Sorry, sorry yeah, sure.' I pinched the bridge of my nose. 'My place or yours?'

'Mine, around eightish? I can pick you up-'

'No it's fine, I'll make my own way there.'

The line went quiet for a moment.

'Okay...' he finally said.

'Okay.'

I hung up the phone and leaned forward, resting my head on the steering wheel. The car was silent, the pit in my stomach growing in size until I could feel it in my bones.

'That was so awkward it made my arsehole twitch,' said Éna.

I gave her the middle finger, pushing my key into the ignition and bringing the car to life.

*

Night had fallen over London. There was a chill in the air, a still fog settling beneath the streetlights. I parked in my usual spot down a side street. It was dark, but even still, I pulled up my hood and walked with my head down.

The door opened before I'd even reached the first step and I wondered how long he had been waiting for me, face pressed against the door, peering anxiously through the peephole. I glanced up at him as he waited, smiling slightly as I climbed the steps and walked inside.

He closed the door behind me and turned around. 'Let me take that,' he said.

I slipped off my coat and handed it to him, folding my arms across my chest. 'Your cheeks are all rosy.'

'Oh.' He laughed. 'Yeah I've been in the kitchen. I didn't know if you'd eaten so I made you something.'

'You _cooked_ for me?'

'Mhm. Spent the past few hours looking up vegan recipes. Finally found one that seemed manageable.'

'That's... annoyingly sweet.'

He laughed again before walking away towards the kitchen. There was an awkward tension, like we both knew I wasn't there to eat dinner and chat. But still, I followed him quietly.

He was standing over the stove, his long-sleeved T-shirt rolled up to his elbows and a pair of glasses on his nose. I watched as he spooned the food onto two plates and carried them to the table before placing them down and gesturing for me to join him. I sat down opposite him and began to eat.

'Well, what's the verdict?' he asked.

I nodded and gave an incoherent mumble, my mouth full of food.

He smiled and began to eat, the pair of us sitting in silence, the only sounds coming from forks scratching the bottoms of plates.

'So did Rowan get off okay?' he asked.

'Yeah she was fine.'

I wasn't good at hiding when I was annoyed. My mood obvious in my short answers and reluctance to look him in the eye.

'Good,' he said. 'So I got a script through today for a new film. It's not something I'd usually go for but it seems interesting.'

'Oh, cool.'

He titled his head, narrowing his eyes at me.

I shifted in my seat. 'What?'

'Alright I'm just going to say it now,' he began abruptly, as if the words had been waiting impatiently on his tongue. 'I'm not seeing anyone else.'

'Okay...?'

'Don't act like that's not what this is about. You're obviously upset about what Eddie said last night.'

'Listen, you don't need to explain yourself to me. Even if you were seeing someone else, it's none of my business. It's fine, Ben, really.'

'But clearly it's not fine, otherwise you wouldn't be so annoyed.'

'I'm annoyed with myself, not you.'

'What for?'

'For getting too involved.'

'Too involved... with me?'

'Yes with you.'

'Why would you say you're 'too involved' with me?'

'Because clearly we have very different opinions of what this is.'

He rolled his eyes. 'Adrian. I just told you I am _not_ seeing anyone else.'

'Then who the fuck is Jane?' I asked, the words leaving my mouth in a frustrated laugh.

He put down his fork, rubbing his mouth with his fingers. 'She's a PR assistant. I've known her for a while and we ended up going on a few dates.' He paused. 'I stopped seeing her the day after we first kissed. Thought nothing of it because that's what it was... nothing.'

I stayed quiet for a while, taking a sip of water and clearing my throat. 'Okay,' I finally said. 'Alright, fine, I believe you. Sorry for overreacting.'

'But you're still pissed off, I can tell.'

'Of course I am. I just spent the past 24 hours reeling over the thought of you with another woman. It's pathetic.'

'It's not pathetic.'

'No, Ben, it is. I mean, who the hell gets _this_ worked up over someone they've been sleeping with for a few months?'

'Hm.' His eyes glazed over as he stared past me.

'What's wrong?'

He shrugged. 'I don't know. That stung a bit.'

'What did?'

'You referring to me as just someone you're sleeping with.'

'W- well that's what this is, isn't it?'

He grumbled quietly, picking up his fork and continuing to eat.

'What?' I pressed. 'What have I said?'

'Nothing, it doesn't matter.'

'Ben.'

'Well... I don't remember the last time I stood and cooked a meal from scratch for a woman I was "just sleeping with", that's all.'

I looked down at my plate then back up to him, at the tension in his jaw, the wrinkle forming between his brows.

'Usually when I'm _just sleeping_ with a woman, I don't spend hours talking to her on the phone, I don't miss her when we're not together or catch early flights just so I can steal an evening with her before I have to go away again.' He leaned forward, a tinge of anger in his deep voice. 'Honestly, Adrian, I'm starting to get the feeling _I'm_ the one that's too involved here.'

I stared across at him, unblinking, barely breathing. 'I had no idea you felt that way.'

'You had no idea?' He shook his head and let out a huff. 'You thought the way I've been with you these past few months was just... what? Common practice?'

'I hoped it wasn't. But I couldn't be certain. When we started seeing each other, you said you wanted to "see how things go". How am I supposed to know that all the nice things we do together aren't just your way of seeing how things go?'

He let out a sigh and rubbed his eyes.

'I've made a fool out of myself before,' I continued. 'Misinterpreted signals, misunderstood labels. I'd be absolutely mortified if I did that with you.'

He didn't speak again for a while, my last words hanging in the air above our heads. I waited anxiously for him to say something, my back straightening when he finally lifted his head to look at me.

'Alright,' he began. 'Maybe we- maybe we need to just... put an end to whatever this is.'

My heart sank - I'd ruined it, I'd ruined everything. I wished I could take it all back, suck the words back inside my mouth and lock them away like they were never spoken.

'Y-you... you want to stop...'

'No. No, god no.' He reached his hand across the table, weaving his fingers through mine. 'I meant put an end to the _uncertainty_ of it all.'

I breathed out, allowing myself to relax slightly as I felt his thumb stroking the back of my hand.

'I'm not interested in anyone else,' he said. 'Are you?'

'No...'

'Well then that sort of makes this a relationship, does it not? A proper relationship, I mean.'

'Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?'

'It's not the way I imagined I'd do it, but yes, I suppose I am.'

'Well now I feel like I've forced you into it.'

He dropped his head and laughed. 'For god's sake, Ade, can I call you my girlfriend or not?'

I nodded gently, fighting back a grin that was forcing its way across my face.

He stood up and walked around the table, pulling me to my feet and into a hug. I buried my face in his chest, feeling his arms tighten around my back. He was really warm, the heat from his body radiating beneath his T-shirt.

I lifted my head, reaching my hands up to his face and pulling him down into a kiss. It was soft yet eager, like he'd been waiting desperately to have my lips on his again.

*

I sat with my legs curled beneath me on the couch, resting against Ben's side as his arm draped across my shoulders, his other hand clasped in mine. The television was playing, but I found myself more interested in the lines on his knuckles, running my thumb over them gently as he chuckled quietly at the show.

'How did you imagine doing it originally?' I asked.

'What? Asking you to be my girlfriend?'

I nodded.

'Oh I don't know. Some kind of romantic gesture, maybe somewhere a bit more beautiful than here. Or maybe I'd have got lucky and _you_ would've asked first.'

'I _was_ thinking about asking you.'

'You were?'

'Yeah. I mean, that was before Eddie mentioned you'd been railing a woman called Jane.'

'Oh my god,' he shouted with a laugh, wrapping his arm around my neck and pretending to squeeze me.

'I'm joking,' I giggled, twisting around to look at him. 'Please don't change your mind.'

He let his hand drop to the small of my back, exhaling softly with a slight smile. 'Never.'


	13. Bad Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: mentions of ED

London 2012

'They've invited you to read for the part.'

Christine was sitting at her desk, smoke drifting in a thin, fluid line from the cigarette between her fingers. It was late summer, the heat was unbearable, and the open windows in her office did little in the way of airing the place out.

'Oh?' I replied as I held the heavy script in my hands, my hair sticking uncomfortably to the back of my neck.

'Usually the casting director would put out the call and it's us who'd contact them to request an audition,' she continued as she tapped off the end of her cigarette into an ashtray. 'But they asked for you specifically so I think they're seriously interested in you.'

'Well I'm definitely interested too. When do we need the tapes ready?'

'Oh no, they want to meet with you in person. I had a feeling you'd say yes so I had Mira go ahead and book the flight. You leave for Los Angeles on Thursday, meeting's Saturday.'

I leaned back and rested my elbow on the back of my chair. 'You guys love planning my life without including me, don't you.'

'It's easier like that. You tend to just get in the way.'

I laughed, fanning my thumb over the pages of the script.

'Ah, while I've got you,' she said as she opened her notebook. 'I've had more requests for comment on some tabloid things.'

'Mm, let me guess...'

'There's a couple of gossip mags planning to run stories about you and Benedict - apparently you were papped together at a petrol station.' She glanced up at me with a sardonic smile. 'They've reached out for comment on the pictures. Oh, and there's been some rumours circulating social media too; fans reporting seeing you "looking cozy" around town, whatever that means, the forums have gone _mad_ apparently.'

I chuckled at her dry, sarcastic tone.

'Some bloggers and online journo's are trying to get a confirmation or denial from you,' she finished.

I rolled my eyes.

She sighed. 'I take it we're still sticking with the no comment approach?'

'Indeed we are.'

'I don't know why you insist on denying it. From a PR perspective-'

'We're not _denying_ it. We're just refusing to comment.'

'But why?'

'Because it's nobody's business. As soon as you go public with a relationship, it's like the whole world thinks they're entitled to know everything about it. It's nice to have something that's just for us.'

'If this lasts, Adrian, you're going to have to go public at some point. You chose to become a part of this big, celebrity world, unfortunately your privacy is a price that comes with it.'

I stood up and packed the script into my bag, leaning over her desk and stealing a cigarette from the open packet. I slipped it between my lips and saluted her before making my way to the door.

'I know you're right, you always are,' I said. 'But for now, it's no comment.'

*

I sat in the window of my living room, my knees tucked to my chest as I watched the warm evening sun turn the clouds into a watercolour of pinks and golds.

My phone was in my hand as I counted the time difference on my fingers, working out if Rowan would be free for a call. She'd gotten the part and had been living in Georgia for a couple of months. By all accounts, she was enjoying herself. But I could tell she was apprehensive, our conversations always ending with her reminding me to look after Éna.

I figured out that it was mid-afternoon over there and she would probably be busy filming. So I scrolled up and called Éna instead.

'Hello?'

'Hi,' I said. 'Just calling to see how you're doing.'

'I'm fine. Working a lot.'

I paused for a moment with a raised brow. 'Are you sure? You sound a bit... peeved.'

'No really, I'm good. I'm just tired.'

'Oh, okay. Well listen I'm going to be in LA this weekend so I was wondering if you wanted to meet up tomorrow before I go?'

There was a shuffling, a sigh. 'I can't tomorrow, I'm busy.'

'But you make your own schedule, can you not just... change it?'

'No I can't.'

'Éna you're being really funny with me, have I done something?'

'No.' There was irritation in her voice, like she didn't want to be talking to me at all.

'Very convincing.'

She huffed. 'People are allowed to feel down, Adrian. It's not always about you.'

'I didn't say it was. But the fact that you're trying to avoid meeting up with me-'

'I already told you, I have work.'

'Your _work_ is talking to a camera in your bedroom.'

'Oh, nice one.' I'd made her angry, really angry. I could hear it in her voice, the way she spat her words down the phone. 'Fuck you, Adrian.'

'Éns,' I sighed. 'I didn't mean it like that. I just- I haven't seen you since Rowan left. It's been a long time and I... miss you-'

'What do you mean you miss me? For fuck sake, we talk nearly every day, Adrian, can you just back off!'

I moved the phone away from my ear as she shouted, bringing it back slowly, not knowing what to say. I sat there for a moment, the line quiet, neither of us wanting to be the first person to speak.

The intercom buzzed. I glanced towards the hallway but remained stuck in my spot by the window.

'S-someone's at the door,' I finally said softly. 'I have to go.'

'Yeah, okay.'

'I'll see you when I get back?'

'Mhm.'

'Okay... bye.'

'Bye.' She hung up.

Sisters fight. And though the older we got, the less frequently those fights came, they still happened. We would swear, storm out, name call. But one thing the three of us never did was raise our voices - knowing too well the memories and feelings that would flood through us with the high pitch of a shout and the rattle of a roar. Éna had shouted at me, and now as I walked to the front door, I could feel my fingertips turning cold, shaking as they reached for the button on the intercom and buzzed the door open.

After a few minutes, Ben appeared outside my flat. He was wearing his usual hat and glasses, hood pulled up despite the heat. I let him inside and he leaned forward with a smile, kissing me as he slipped off his jacket. It was as if from that one single kiss, he knew immediately that something was wrong, like he could taste the tension on my lips.

'What's the matter?' he asked.

I closed the door and shrugged. 'I just had a bit of an argument with Éna.'

'What happened?'

'Oh you know, she was being funny with me, so then I was a bitch to her, which of course pissed her off even more.'

'Do you want to take a rain check so you can talk to her?'

'No, no.' I waved my hands and ushered him into the living room. 'With Éna, you just sort of have to leave her to it. She'll call me when she's ready.'

I shook away the upset and took a deep breath, allowing a smile as I looked up at him. 'Anyway, it's nice to see you.'

'You too.' He smiled back, wrapping his arms around me.

It had been just over a week since I last saw him, and even that felt like too long. We'd been lucky to spend the first couple of months of our relationship residing in the same city. Yes, there had been jobs, trips to other countries for work, but for the most part we had both been in London, and we had grown accustomed to being in each other's company whenever we got the chance. But there was always a ticking deep in the back of mind, like a clock counting down the days until the next big project stole one of us away from the other again. And it was only as I thought about my upcoming trip that I realised, I'd never considered the idea that the next 'big project' could be mine, and I'd be the one leaving him behind.

*

It had been a few hours since the phone call and I'd finally managed to relax, putting it to the back of my mind and refusing to let it spoil my night.

I was in the kitchen piling the dishes from dinner into the sink as Ben leaned against the counter beside me with his hands in his pockets. I was rambling about something from a documentary I'd seen, a useless statistic that he'd not actually asked to hear, but I was telling him anyway.

My laptop was sitting on the side playing music softly as I spoke. I noticed him glance over his shoulder as the song changed, no longer listening to me but instead turning up the volume and nodding his head enthusiastically.

'What a song,' he said as he began to sing along.

'Oh yeah, I put some Radiohead in my playlist for you. You're welcome.'

'You put it in there for _me_? Do you not like them?'

I shrugged. 'Can't say I've ever really listened to them.'

'Ah, then I'm afraid we're going to have issues.'

'Why?' I laughed as I watched him do a dance around the kitchen.

'How can you not like Radiohead?'

'They're just not my thing.'

He gasped dramatically. 'Blasphemy.'

'I apologise.'

'I knew you were too good to be true,' he said as he walked back over to the laptop and rested his elbows on the counter. 'Go on, how bad is it?'

I dried my hands on a tea towel and turned to him. 'How bad is what? My music taste?'

'Yeah.'

'See for yourself.'

He clicked on the recently played button, looking over at me as a quiet melody began to play. Then suddenly, the sound of heavy guitars and crashing drums exploded from the speakers. I raised an eyebrow and gave a slight smile as his eyes widened with surprise.

'Deftones,' I said. 'Diamond Eyes - One of my favourites.'

'Not what I expected.'

'Oh I'm full of surprises.'

He smiled to himself, turning to face me as the song continued. 'So is the kind of stuff you play?'

'I'm not playing guitar for you.'

'Damn.' He took a sip of his drink. 'I'm going to keep trying, you know, you'll give in eventually.'

'Mhm, sure.'

I walked up to him and pulled his face down to mine, kissing him gently and feeling the corners of his mouth curve into a smile beneath my lips.

'I have to go,' he mumbled.

I let out a disappointed huff. 'Do you really? It's only half nine.'

'I don't want to. But I have to be at the studio for six.'

'You could spend the night and go straight from here?'

He rolled his eyes, as if it were killing him to turn down the offer. 'Trust me, if I could I would.'

'Okay,' I sighed. 'Well I fly out tomorrow so I suppose I'll see you when I get back.'

'Fly out where?'

'LA...' I narrowed my eyes at him. 'Ben, I texted you about it earlier.'

'I'm joking.' He kissed me again, wishing me luck and reaching for his jacket.

'Oh go on, please stay a bit longer?'

He groaned before finally giving in. 'Alright fine.'

I smiled like a spoiled child who'd gotten her way, taking his hand and pulling him back down the hall.

'If you play something for me,' he finished.

'You're a bastard.'

He raised his arms with a shrug and smirked. 'That's my condition, take it or leave it.'

We went back into the living room and he threw himself down on the couch. I picked up the guitar from the corner of the room and sat down beside him, running my fingers over the strings to test the tuning.

'I draw the line at serenading you,' I said.

He chuckled, quickly falling silent as I began to play.

The first time I picked up a guitar was in secondary school. I would stay behind after the final bell to help the drama teacher tidy her prop room, sit on the floor in the corridor to do my homework, find any excuse I could to stick around until the caretaker came to lock up. I'd sometimes sit at the piano in the music room and work out how to play my favourite songs by ear, flick through guitar sheet music and practice shaping my fingers into chords. The music teacher was an older man, grey-haired, gentle, who would never kick me out or tell me not to touch the instruments. Partly because he must have known there was a reason I didn't want to go home, but mostly because he enjoyed watching me improve, teaching myself and working things out without help. One day, as the caretaker came to lock the building up, the music teacher handed me a guitar case with a kind wink and told me quietly to take one home.

All three of us learned to play on that guitar; taking turns teaching ourselves and hiding it under our beds to keep it safe. We fought over it, wrote songs together with it, even etched our names into the neck. Now, all it took was the feeling of my fingers pressing against steel, nails plucking at strings, to take me right back to those moments and the small things we did to survive that followed us through the rest of our lives.

LA 2012

It was Friday and the sun was beaming through the windows as I sat in my hotel room stewing over my upcoming meeting. It felt like I was preparing for a job interview, wondering if there was anything I could do to prepare, anything I should read, research, anyone I could speak to who had already been a part of the franchise I was auditioning for. I hadn't felt so nervous for anything since I auditioned for Sherlock, so I decided to take it as a good sign; a sign that I cared, that I really wanted it.

I'd given Mira the day off, promising her that I'd be fine to go out by myself. This city had once been my home, there were people here that I loved and missed terribly, and if I was going to see any of them, today was my only chance.

I walked down the street, the sun still blinding me even through my glasses, the suffocating heat clinging to my skin. I was stopped a few times by people asking for photos, and with each interaction I worried that I'd made a mistake by not bringing my manager with me. But when I saw Matt walking towards me, I relaxed instantly.

I wrapped my arms around him and he squeezed me so hard I felt my feet raise off the ground.

'Hi!' I said excitedly. 'My god, I've missed you.'

'I've missed you too!'

He let go of me and we began to walk together, through the same streets we used to stroll down hand-in-hand, passing the same restaurants we would order breakfast to take home and eat in bed together. I'd always worried that being back there with him would make me sad, mournful of the life we spent years building together. But I wasn't sad at all. He was my best friend, and I loved him for that. But it wasn't until we were walking side by side, talking with ease, laughing, catching up, that I realised the love I felt for him was completely different to the love I felt for Ben - I wasn't sure I'd ever felt this way about anyone before.

We went into my favourite juice bar and joined the queue, sighing as the shade brought cool relief from the unrelenting sun outside.

'Still the same order?' Matt asked as we moved up the line.

I laughed. 'Am I _that_ predictable?'

'Nah, I just know you too well.'

We sat down at a table and within minutes, I noticed the people beginning to whisper and point, staring at me and taking photos with their phones.

'Sorry,' I said as I rested my cheek in my hand. 'I seem to have gained a few more _friends_ since I last saw you.'

'It's fine, luckily I'm used to it,' he replied with a smile before glancing around at the groups of people gawping. 'Okay, maybe not to _this_ extreme.'

'I've found if you just... pretend it's not happening, it calms down after a few minutes.'

'Yeah, then the paparazzi show up and next thing you know, the media are saying we're back together.'

I laughed. 'God I hope not. Don't think my new _man_ would appreciate that.' I did a little jig in my chair, raising my eyebrows excitedly.

His face warmed slowly, a smile forming as his eyes sparkled with intrigue. 'You have a boyfriend?'

'Shush. But yes,' I whispered.

'Who is it?'

'I can't say.'

'Why? Is he famous?'

'Shush.'

'Is he taller than me?'

'No, I don't think he- wait,' I began to laugh. 'Are you jealous?'

'Of you having a new boyfriend, no. Of him possibly being taller than me, yes.'

We stayed there for what felt like hours, still sat talking long after our cups were empty and the sun had moved lower in the sky. I asked him about our co-stars, he said the show wasn't the same without me, and they celebrated on set the day after I won my Oscar. I asked about his family, his work projects, he asked about Rowan and Éna, saying it had been a while since he'd talked to either of them.

But eventually, the conversation moved on to my meeting. I told him I was nervous, unsure if I was making a mistake by even considering the part.

'What _is_ the part?' he asked.

I pondered for a moment, debating whether to tell him or keep it to myself like Christine had advised. But I trusted him, and it was killing me not being able to talk to someone about it.

'Did you ever read comics growing up?' I asked, keeping my voice hushed.

He nodded.

'Did you ever read the Scarlet Witch ones by Marvel?'

'I think so?'

'Well that's the part they want me for.'

'Really?'

'Mhm. They've got this whole Avengers universe planned out. So I'd be signing on for four films that'd bring me up to 2019. But they want the part cast now because they're planning to tease the character at the end of the Captain America one they're filming next year.'

He blew out a puff of air. 'Sounds huge.'

'It _is_ huge. People love these films, Matt. They're like guaranteed box office successes. I'd pretty much have secure work for the next seven years.'

'So why do you seem on the fence?'

'I'm not on the fence, I just... It's a big, blockbuster superhero franchise. I'd never even done a film before Junk, and that was a gritty, artsy drama.'

'That you won an Oscar for...'

'By complete luck.'

'Why do you do that to yourself?' He laughed. 'You won it because you were awesome. Awesome enough to do whatever role gets thrown at you. I mean, look at some of the people who've been in those movies; Tom Hiddleston, he was like a Shakespeare guy before he did Loki. And he was great.'

'A Shakespeare guy, wow.'

'You know what I'm talking about. Even the guy you do Sherlock with.'

My back tightened as I tried my best not to blurt out that 'the guy I do Sherlock with' was the mystery man we'd been talking about.

'Didn't he do mostly period dramas and theatre?' he continued. 'Now he's the bad guy in freakin' Star Trek.'

I laughed. 'Fair point.'

'You're gonna do great. If it's meant to be, it'll be.'

*

Matt was right, I did great. Surprisingly great.

It was Saturday evening, sticky and hot even with the sun low in the sky. I climbed into the back of a car with Mira, leaning back and exhaling as the air-con soothed my flushed cheeks.

'That went well,' said Mira.

'Yeah, it did, didn't it.'

I'd met with a small team of people in a bright, luxurious office inside the studio's building. They'd offered me food and drinks, praised my previous work and pitched the character's story to me as if they were desperate to have me on board. I'd been convinced that it would be like a job interview, but the further I got into the meeting, the more I realised that it was almost the other way around. _They_ were trying to convince _me_ , asking what I thought, selling the concept. It was bewildering.

The car hadn't even reached the hotel before I got the call, and by the time I was back in my room, I had the job.

*

I'd been trying to call Éna since I first landed. But each time, it would ring out before going to voicemail. Nevertheless, I kept trying. Every few hours I'd call and wait patiently before leaving a message and sending her a text.

I sat down on the edge of my bed, looking out at the view of the city skyline backlit by the setting sun. I took a deep breath and called her again, and like every time before, she didn't answer.

'Hi, me again,' I said. 'Just checking in. Got some exciting news. Anyway, hope you're okay. I know I've already said it but I'm sorry Éns. Love you.'

I hung up and immediately dialled another number.

'Hello darling.' His voice was like whiskey, immediately warming me like the alcoholic burn in the back of the throat.

'Hi,' I said as I lay down on the bed. 'What time is it there?'

'About half three in the morning.'

'Oh shit, I'm sorry. I should've checked before I called.'

'Don't be sorry, I've not long been home.' I could hear him shuffling around, closing doors and climbing his stairs as he spoke. 'How did it go?'

'They offered me the fucking part,' I replied, almost laughing in disbelief.

'Get in!'

'I know!'

'When will you start?'

'Technically not until 2014. I'll just have one uncredited scene in the one they're making now. It'll probably only take a couple of days to film.'

'Jesus, 2014 seems like a long time to wait.'

'I know, it's ages away. Worst part is it's all embargoed until the next film comes out. I have to sign non-disclosures, can't tell anyone.'

'You told me.'

'Well if it gets leaked, I'll know who to blame.'

He chuckled, the line going quiet for a moment as he moved around some more. 'What've you been up to over there?'

'Honestly just sitting in my hotel like a hermit waiting for that meeting. I _did_ get to see Matt yesterday though, which was nice.'

'I'm sure it was.'

'Hey, don't say it like that.'

'Like what?'

'Ben.'

'Honestly, I swear I didn't mean to sound snarky, I'm just tired.'

'Okay...' I rolled onto my stomach, running my fingers through the soft material of the bedsheets.

'I just really want you back here,' he said softly. 'I miss you.'

'I miss you too. God, we're shit at being apart,' I laughed. 'I dread to think about the next time one of us goes away to film.'

'Honestly, I try not to think about it at all.'

We talked a little while longer but I could tell he was exhausted. So we said our goodbyes and I went on with the rest of my night, eating room service and watching reality shows on the small TV.

*

I woke to my phone ringing somewhere in the mess of bedsheets. I didn't remember falling asleep, the TV still playing and the sky outside black as ink. I found my phone, squinting as the screen illuminated in the dark, my stomach dropping when I saw who was calling.

'Éna?'

'Hi.'

My voice was croaky. I cleared my throat and sat upright. 'Are you okay? What's-'

'Look, I don't want you to panic.'

It was too late. My heart was already thumping, my mouth dry from sleep.

'I've gone bad again,' she said. 'I've felt it coming for a while but I didn't say anything because I was scared. That's why I didn't want to see you, because I knew you'd notice.'

'What do you mean you've gone bad again?'

'Falling into old habits, doing things I know I shouldn't.'

'Éna...'

'So I really don't want you to worry, okay, but I had a really bad night last night so I went to the hospital. They've referred me to a clinic, I'm on my way there now.'

I shot up out of bed, wedging my phone between my ear and shoulder as I began to get dressed, almost forgetting that there was an ocean between us.

'What clinic?'

'The same one as last time.'

'Right, give me... give me a few hours to sort a flight and I'll-'

'Adrian please don't.'

'What do you mean _don't_? I'm coming home, Éna.'

She sighed and I could tell she was trying to stop herself from crying.

'Why didn't you tell me?' I said softly.

'Because I was in denial, tried to manage it on my own. I thought if I said anything it'd just spoil everything; Rowan, you. I've based my entire career around showing what it's like to recover. How can I admit I'm relapsing?'

'Because we could've helped you,' I said as I buttoned my trousers and sat down to put on my shoes.

'I'm here, I have to go.'

'Okay just... hang tight and I'll be there as soon as I can.'

She paused. 'Okay.'

*

I paced the floor of my hotel room as Mira talked on the phone, a laptop in front of her and a notebook at her side. I'd watched the sunrise through the window, every inch of light feeling like torture, like I was doing nothing.

'Your flight's booked,' said Mira. 'Earliest one I could get leaves at midday.'

I groaned, running my fingers through my hair. 'Okay.'

'I'm just trying to get in touch with the Marvel team. They needed you to sign those contracts today so I'll have to see if they can postpone.' She brought her phone back to her ear, burying her face into her computer again.

I walked into the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror, the remnants of yesterday's makeup still scattered around my eyes. I filled my hands with water from the sink and splashed it on my face when my phone began to ring in my pocket. I dried my hands and pulled it out.

'Hi,' I said.

'Oh no, what's wrong?' It was Matt.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, remembering I'd planned to meet him for breakfast.

'I'm sorry, I can't make it. It's Éna, she's...'

I heard him sigh. 'How bad is it?'

'I don't know. She's checked herself in somewhere, I- I have to get back to her.'

'Do you want me to come?'

I fell silent, feeling a lump form in my throat. 'No. No, don't be stupid. I can't ask you to do that,' I said.

'You're not asking, I'm offering. Do you want me to come? I can get a hotel, stay for a couple of days until you know more about what's going on.'

I thought back to the last time she'd gone bad; Rowan crying down the phone as I rushed to get a flight, the panic, the guilt, and Matt, dropping everything to fly to London with me.

'Y-yes,' I finally said. 'Okay, if you can take the time off then... yeah.'

'Adrian,' Mira called from the other room.

I ended my call with Matt and hurried through to her.

'They've agreed to hold off for a couple of days on the contract,' she said.

'Oh, good.'

'But they're not going to wait long. They're starting preproduction soon, they need things set in stone.'

'I know, I know, I just... my sister comes first. She has to.'

London 2012

I went straight from the airport to Éna. I felt dirty and tired, my lips dry and cracked from the recycled plane air. By the time I got to the clinic, visiting hours were ending. I held back tears as they told me I only had five minutes before I had to leave, as if the adrenaline was finally draining and leaving behind nothing but sadness and sheer exhaustion.

I sat with her for those five minutes, using every ounce of willpower I had to not berate her for keeping this from me. Instead I asked her how she was feeling, if she needed anything, if I could do anything to help.

She thanked me and, in true Éna fashion, gave me a list of things she wanted me to bring when I came back. I laughed, wrote them down on my phone and gave her a hug before peeling myself away and climbing back in the car that was waiting for me outside.

*

I asked the driver to take me to another address. He pulled up outside a house and I climbed out, rushing up to the front door and knocking quickly.

'Please be home,' I muttered to myself. 'Please be-'

The door opened and I threw my arms around him.

'Oh thank fuck,' I said breathlessly.

Ben kept hold of me as he turned us around and closed the door. 'What are you doing here? I thought you didn't get back until tomorrow.'

'I had to get an emergency flight.'

'Why? Is everything alright?'

'I honestly don't know.' I let go of him slowly. 'It's my sister. I'll explain everything properly, but could I please use your shower first? I just spent ten hours on a plane and I haven't been home yet.'

He nodded, a look of concern on his face as he gestured for me to go upstairs.

I showered quickly, dressing myself in one of his T-shirts and a pair of joggers I'd left there from my last overnight stay. I went downstairs to find a mug of black coffee waiting for me in the living room, the rich, warm scent wrapping around me like a blanket. I sat down on the couch and tucked my legs underneath me, sipping slowly on the coffee and letting myself relax amongst the cushions.

Ben walked in and sat beside me, brushing a lock of wet hair out of my face and tucking it behind my ear.

'Do you feel any better?' he asked.

I nodded. 'Thank you.'

'What happened?'

'I don't know if I've told you this, but Éna had an eating disorder when she was a teenager. It got really bad at one point and she had to be hospitalised because she almost died.' I put my mug back on the table and shifted my body to face him. 'She called me while I was in LA to tell me she's relapsed. She's been referred to a clinic and is being kept as an inpatient.'

'Christ, I'm sorry.' He placed his hand over mine.

'It's okay- I mean, it's not okay. But it will be. I think with some help she'll be alright. I just need to be here for her, no matter how long it takes.'

He pulled me into him and I rested my head on his chest, closing my eyes and letting myself relax for the first time in what felt like forever.

'Can I stay here until visiting hours start again?' I asked.

'Of course. I could come with you if you wanted me to, for support.'

I wanted nothing more than to have Ben by my side through it all. But I knew I couldn't. His face was unmistakable, his voice so distinct it could draw attention like a siren's song.

'Thank you, but it's not worth the risk,' I said. 'All it takes is one person to spot you there, dig around and find out that Adrian Bury's sister is a patient. Dots connected and suddenly it's in all the papers.'

'Mm, I suppose you're right.'

'You're just too bloody famous.'

He laughed gently. 'It's a curse.'

He was stroking my back through the fabric of the T-shirt, resting his chin on top of my head. I could hear his heart beating as I rested my head on his chest, the rhythm comforting enough to send me to sleep.

'I missed you,' I said.

'I missed you too.'


	14. Decline

London 2012 

It had been a week since Éna went into the clinic. Her recovery was in sight, but I could see she was fragile, struggling with the constant watchful eye of staff and her lack of privacy. She'd been doing well, following her schedule and keeping up with expectations, which meant that I'd been allowed to visit almost every day.

I'd had a sleepless night after a heated phone call with Rowan. She was angry, upset that she was so far away and couldn't get to her, and I knew the feeling all too well. She blamed me for letting things get so bad; saying I shouldn't have left her to her own devices, I should have checked on her, I should have known something was wrong the second she shouted at me. I'd cried, apologised, and spent the night lying awake staring at my ceiling.

I picked Matt up from his hotel. He'd arrived the night before and I could tell he was jet-lagged as he climbed into the car beside me. He yawned and turned to speak, but I held a finger up, instructing him to stay quiet as I pointed to the speaker and mouthed the word 'agent'. He nodded and strapped himself in as Christine continued to speak.

'So they've postponed it for another week, but they're getting impatient, Adrian. You not signing these contracts is holding everything up.'

'I know,' I said as I pulled the car away and began to drive. 'I just can't do anything until I know more about what's going on with my sister.'

'They don't start filming until April.'

'That means nothing, Chris. Recovery is a long process. What if I were to sign on and then a few months from now my schedule comes through and Éna goes downhill again?'

'I understand, and I sympathise with the position you're in. But this is a huge contract, Adrian-'

'I know. I want the job, I do. Just... please hold them off for as long as you can?'

She huffed. 'I'm doing my best.'

'Thank you.'

I hung up and glanced over at Matt who was looking at me awkwardly, his mouth pressed into a straight line.

I breathed out a laugh as I turned my eyes back to the road ahead. 'This is all so shit.'

*

I hadn't told Éna that Matt was here, my heart thumping with excitement as we signed our names at the front desk and walked down the corridor towards her room.

Throughout our relationship, he had somehow managed to forge a bond with my sisters that transcended distance. He would hijack my calls home, stealing the phone and talking to them for hours, he would send them videos and voice notes of his terrible singing and visit them with me whenever I got to fly home. I knew our separation had upset them and that in some ways, the fact that we stayed friends made it harder for them to accept. But their relationship with him had never truly hinged on me, and I was sure they'd be friends with him forever.

I walked into the room first, smiling and handing her the book she'd asked me to bring from her flat.

'How are you feeling today?' I asked.

'Eh.' She shrugged before glancing over my shoulder. 'Ade, you've left the door open.'

'Hm? Oh yeah, sorry.'

Suddenly, Matt appeared in the doorway. I watched Éna's face as it journeyed from shock to disbelief to utter excitement, until eventually, she let out a scream.

'What the fuck!?' she shouted.

He laughed and walked over to her, leaning forward and hugging her tight.

'What are you doing here!?' She was still shouting as she wrapped her arms around him.

There was a shuffling behind us as a nurse ran into the room. He was breathless, eyes wide with panic. 'Is everything okay? What happened?'

'Sorry,' said Éna. 'Just got over-excited.'

He calmed down quickly, his face dropping into an unamused expression.

'Sorry,' she said again as he turned around and walked away.

'I came to see you,' said Matt, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to her. 'Adrian told me you weren't doing so well and I had some time off so...'

That was a lie. He was actually in the middle of directing an episode of the show; a job he took seriously, perhaps even more seriously than he ever did as an actor. I knew how tight the schedules were and I worried that requesting time off wouldn't have gone down well for him with the network. But he was here, and I daren't ask what it took to get them to agree.

We sat talking for a while. I rested my elbow on the side of her bed, propping my chin on my fist as I fought to stay focused on the conversation. My eyes were itchy and heavy, my mind whirling with thoughts of the movie, of Éna's frail frame and Rowan's harsh words.

It had been three years since Matt and I were a couple, yet he still knew what I was thinking without me having to say a word.

He turned to me and smiled. 'Why don't you head home?' he said. 'Get some rest, try and figure out this contract thing.'

'What contract?' said Éna.

'Oh nothing, just work stuff,' I replied quickly before turning to him. 'Are you sure?'

'Yeah we're good. I'll get a cab back to my hotel when they kick me out of here.'

I glanced at Éna, raising my brow. She nodded in response.

'Go. You look knackered.'

I paused, deliberating for a moment before letting out a sigh and standing up. 'Okay.'

I left the clinic and climbed into my car as I noticed a small huddle of men hanging around on the road outside. They were fiddling with cameras and talking amongst themselves until suddenly, like a group of meerkats their ears pricked, heads turning in my direction. I drove through them as their cameras flashed, muttering swear words and insults under my breath as I went.

It was in that moment that I realised nothing was sacred anymore; to the media, my life was an article, my trauma nothing more than a pay check for anyone with a camera.

Manchester 2012

I sat in a chair on the edge of a small, crisp white set. On one side of me, a woman was painting my nails, while on the other, a makeup artist was patting product over my cheek. There was a hairstylist behind me, fiddling with my frizzy, curly locks, clearly unimpressed by my newly-cut fringe that was refusing to cooperate with his comb.

'Sorry,' I said. 'It was for a job I did a couple of months back. I can't wait for it to grow out.'

He seemed taken aback by my comment, as if he'd never heard a client apologise before. But then again, he probably hadn't.

'Oh, it's okay,' he said with a nervous laugh. 'You've got great hair; I'm just not sure why they want all these lovely curls slicked back.'

I smiled at him before glancing at my reflection in the mirror, struggling to remember the last time I'd looked so glamorous.

I'd become the face of a makeup brand; signing on for a series of ad campaigns and photo shoots that I couldn't back out of. I'd already filmed the ad and now I was at a studio in Manchester for a photo shoot that would appear in magazines and billboards across the world. It was daunting yet exciting, more money than I'd ever seen in my entire life - I couldn't turn it down.

They walked me on set and sat me on a stool surrounded by lights and soft boxes. The room was full of people directing the shoot as if I were a prop, turning my head and moving my arms like a mannequin, talking about the shots and things they needed to change as if I weren't there. In some ways, I wasn't there. My mind occupied with thoughts of my sisters, the pending contract, of the media and their prying eyes.

We took a break and I slipped out back for a cigarette. It was a habit I'd kicked months before, yet somehow found myself falling back into over the past few weeks. I hated the taste, the smell, the way it clung to my clothes and coated my tongue. But cigarettes had become my substitute; a comfort blanket to wrap myself in when much more sinister addictions tried to gnaw at my mind and sneak their way back in.

A summer shower had broken through the clouds, pattering heavily on the warm ground and filling the air with the scent of earth and damp concrete. I felt the sudden urge to step out from the shelter and bathe in the rain, to let it pour over my face and wash away the heaviness that had been sitting on my shoulders. But I didn't, unsure if the team inside would be too impressed by the sight of mascara running down my perfectly painted face.

My phone rang in my pocket, stealing me back to reality like an early morning alarm bleeding into a pleasant dream.

I stubbed out my cigarette and answered the call. 'Hello.'

'Hi,' said Ben. 'Are you busy? Can you talk?'

'I've got a few minutes.'

'Good. How are you holding up?'

'Fine. Just trying to juggle everything.' I sighed. 'I've always been shit at juggling.'

He laughed. 'Are you still in Manchester?'

'Mhm. Then as soon as we wrap here, I'm going back down to London for a meeting with Chris about this marvel stuff.'

'Still not sorted it then?'

'No. They're being really patient but I can tell it's wearing thin.'

'Well I'll be back in London tomorrow, if you need a shoulder to cry on.'

'That would be lovely.' I smiled, feeling the tension slowly leaving my body. 'I'll be going to see Éna but I can come over in the evening.'

'Are you sure you don't want company when you visit? I know it's not the most ideal way to introduce me to the family...'

'No, no it's fine. Honestly, I've got paps breathing down my neck, I'd rather not get you pulled into it.'

'I just don't like the idea of you dealing with this alone.'

I opened my mouth to reply, to tell him all about Matt and how great he'd been, how he was helping take the load off. But something stopped me.

'I'm okay. Éna's okay. We're _all_ okay.' I laughed softly. 'Just... have a drink ready for me when I get there. And maybe something to eat - I can't remember the last time I had a proper meal.'

'Done and done.'

'Thank you.'

'I'll see you tomorrow.'

'See you tomorrow.'

The urge to end the call with 'I love you' was so strong that I could almost feel the words rising from my throat. But we hadn't said it yet, and I didn't want the first time to be down a crackling phone line.

London 2012

'Oh no, you're going all diva on me,' said Chris as I sat down in her living room.

I had gel eye patches under my eyes in an attempt to soothe the puffy shadows, yet my false lashes were still on, my hair still styled, lips still stained with lipstick.

I laughed and tapped my fingers over the eyepatches. 'I put them on in the car, didn't have time to go home and wash my face.'

'So,' she said abruptly, her voice changing the tone in a way that always made my stomach feel funny. 'What are we doing about this then?'

I sighed, averting my gaze to the pitch black sky outside. 'I want the part. I've told you a thousand times I do. But last time Éna came out of hospital, she was touch and go for a really long time.'

'And I've told you I understand. But normal people don't get the luxury of turning down work when a loved one isn't well. This is your career-'

'And she's my _sister,_ Chris _._ I've spent the majority of the last decade being a selfish cow; the drug addiction, the reckless behaviour, leaving them alone here in London when they were only teenagers so I could swan off to America and become an _actress_.' I folded my arms across my chest and huffed. 'Rowan is finally doing something for herself and Éna is finally reaching out and accepting help, now it's my turn to put _them_ first.'

'So should we just stop this now and I'll tell the studio you're backing out?' She was getting irritated, trying her best to remain professional and composed.

'No! Just... please ask them to postpone a little longer.'

'You're going to get a name for yourself, Adrian. Word spreads. All it takes is one person to label you as "difficult" and suddenly no one will want to work with you.'

'I'm not trying to be difficult. I'm trying to be responsible, for once in my fucking life.'

There was silence as we looked at each other; me sitting forward on the couch and Chris, relaxed and composed in her expensive leather armchair. She was my agent, in some ways she even felt like my boss, but most of all she was a friend, and I could see the conflict behind her eyes; sympathy fighting with business.

'I'll call them,' she finally said.

*

The next day was warm and muggy, the sky threatening more showers that would do little to alleviate the humidity that came with late summer.

I pulled my car up at the airport drop-off, reaching over to the glovebox and pulling out my cap. I put it on, fixing the peak to shield my eyes and cover my face. Matt was sat beside me in the passenger seat. He looked down at me and chuckled.

'What?' I said.

'It's just crazy how different your life is now,' he replied.

'In what way?'

'The _weak_ disguises.' He flicked my cap with his finger.

'Shut up.' I laughed.

'I feel kinda lucky that I got to know you before all of this.'

'Aww.'

He laughed before looking out the window towards the runways in the distance. 'I hope you don't think I came here because I was trying to... rekindle anything between us. I just- I love you. Maybe not in the way I used to, but I said I'd always be there for you and...'

'I know.' I smiled, reaching over and squeezing his hand. 'I appreciate you coming, and if you ever needed me, I'd do the same.'

'We work good as friends, don't we.'

'Probably better than we ever did as a couple.'

'Yeah. I think it's a good thing I got out when I did,' he teased. 'Not sure I could deal with being _mega star_ Adrian Bury's arm candy.'

I laughed. 'It _is_ a tall order.'

'I hope your new guy's up to the task.'

I dropped my head and smirked before glancing back up to him. 'Oh trust me, he can handle it.'

We leaned over the centre console and hugged tightly.

I watched in the rear view mirror as he climbed out of the car and got his bag from the boot. He made his way down the path towards the entrance of the airport, turning at the door and waving goodbye. I waved back and let out a long, content sigh before starting up the car and driving away.

*

The second I sat down in Éna's room, I knew something was wrong. She looked as though she'd drank twelve cups of coffee, wide-eyed and fidgety as she chewed her bottom lip and scrolled through her phone.

'What's the matter?' I asked tentatively.

'Have you seen some of the stuff in the papers?'

'No, I haven't had a minute. Why? What's up?'

She handed me the phone and immediately, I knew why she'd been antsy. I let my thumb scroll through page after page of articles and headlines, each one as insensitive and inflammatory as the last.

'I look _worn out_?' I said as I skimmed over one of the pages. 'How fucking rude.'

'Read the actual article.'

'Oscar-winner Adrian Bury has been spotted looking tired and worn out after the actress' younger sister, YouTube star Éna Bury was admitted to a mental health facility earlier this month after struggles with anorexia...' I looked up at her. 'How do they get this information?'

'I have no idea.' She shifted on the bed, leaning forward slightly. 'The things they've said about me, Ade, it's disgusting. One article said I was _sectioned,_ another called me _unstable._ What the fuck is wrong with these people?'

I shook my head angrily and kept reading until I reached a photo of Matt and I walking from his hotel to my car. 'Despite ending their relationship in 2009, Bury has been seen seeking comfort in ex-beau and fellow actor Ma- Jesus, these pictures are from this morning! How the hell have they done this so quickly?'

'I don't know, but now your fans are going mad because they think you're back together.'

I dropped my face into my hands and groaned. 'Brilliant.'

Éna's voice began to break - it was a sound I recognised immediately, not as upset, but as frustration.

'How can they get away with saying such shitty things about me?' she said, her eyes glassy and irritated. 'They called me unstable for fuck-'

'I'll sort it,' I said quickly. 'My management are probably already losing their shit about this as we speak.' I stood up and walked over to her, perching on the bed beside her. 'They'll fix it, okay?'

She cleared her throat and nodded, composing herself before a single tear had the chance to fall. I tucked her hair behind her ears and smushed her cheeks in my hands, drawing a faint smile from her that didn't quite reach her eyes.

My phone began to ring. I pulled it out of my pocket and pointed to it. 'It's my agent. I told you, didn't I.'

I went into the small bathroom and closed the door behind me, lifting the phone to my ear and leaning back against the wall.

'So you've seen the shit in the news then?' I said.

'I have. They're arse holes, Mira's looking into it as we speak.'

I paused, waiting for her to say more, but she never did.

'You're not calling about the papers, are you?'

'No.' She sighed. 'I spoke with them, asked for more time and they said no. They need the contract signed now, Adrian.'

I closed my eyes and let out a long, shaking exhale. 'I just... I can't, Chris. I can't sign on to something when my sister's the way she is. I need to be _here._ '

'Then you're going to have to decline the role.'

'Seriously? That's it? Those are my options; sign on or drop out?'

'I'm sorry, Adrian, I tried to squeeze another week out of them but it didn't work. They just can't halt preproduction any more than they already have.'

'Right, well...' I didn't know what to do. My knees buckled slightly beneath me, as if the weight of everything had finally become too much to bear.

'What do you want me to tell them? Are you going to sign or decline?'

I sat down on the lid of the toilet to ease my shaking legs, looking around at the bleak, safety-modified room. 'Decline.'

*

The long summer evening was still clinging to sunlight as I drove through London. I'd managed to keep a smile on my face for the rest of my visit with Éna, but the second I climbed into my car, I broke.

I was almost at Ben's house and I was still crying. The kind of cry that made noses raw and eyelids swell, the kind that didn't make you feel any better when it was over.

When I pulled up around the corner, I sat in the car for a while, staring at my reflection in the mirror until my face seemed less red and puffy. I knew he'd be able to tell the second he looked at me, but still, I didn't have it in me to walk up to his door covered in snot as I wailed and sobbed.

I inhaled sharply and climbed out the car, walking quickly around the corner and up the steps. As I waited for him to answer the door, I realised this was the longest I'd gone without seeing him for a while. I was excited, looking forward to feeling his arms around me, the wash of calm that always came with the smell of his aftershave and the sound of his voice. But as he opened the door, I didn't feel calm.

His face was tense, hard and angular as his pale eyes could barely stand to look at me. I furrowed my brow as I stepped inside, watching him close the door without a word.

'You okay?' I asked as I slipped off my jacket and hung it up.

He ran a hand through his hair as he finally looked down at me, pressing his lips together tightly as he composed a careful response.

'When I said I wanted to be there for you,' he began slowly, his voice low and gritty. 'You refused. Yet you were perfectly happy to have your ex boyfriend fly across an ocean to be by your side...'

My heart sank. 'You saw the papers, then?'

'Yeah,' he replied sharply. 'Nice of him to be there. Not like I wasn't here this whole time worried sick about you.'

I closed my eyes and dropped my head. 'I'm sorry I didn't tell you he was here. He was close with my sisters and he wanted to come because he's my friend. That's really all there is to it, so can we just... not do this right now? I've had a really, really shit day.'

I began to make my way down the hall, stopping and turning around as he spoke.

'All that bullshit about not wanting to be photographed together,' he persisted, almost scoffing.

I whipped my head up to look at him. 'Hold on... we _both_ decided to keep this relationship out of the public eye. Are you really trying to suggest I kept you away because I _preferred_ having Matt there?'

'I just don't get why you weren't equally as bothered about being seen with him.'

'I wasn't bothered because there's nothing to hide; he wasn't here for me, he was here for Éna.'

'If that's the case then why didn't you tell me about it?'

'I've already apologised for that.'

'But you haven't explained _why_ you didn't tell me.'

'Because I don't know why.' I was getting agitated, my brow creasing, arms folded defensively. 'Maybe because deep down I knew you'd react like this.'

'Can you blame me?'

I huffed. 'Ben, I really don't have the energy for this right now. You could not have chosen a worse time to start having a go at me.' I rubbed my tired, sore eyes. 'I've already apologised and I've asked you to drop it. So can you drop it?'

'Just drop it?' he scoffed. 'You've just spent a fortnight with your ex-'

'I've spent a fortnight visiting my _sister;_ an inpatient at a fucking eating disorder clinic.' I stared at him in awe. 'You know, I never took you for a selfish person, Ben, but Jesus Christ.'

'Ah okay, now I'm selfish...'

'You're certainly acting it.' I stepped forward, my eyes darting across his face. 'I'm starting to get the feeling you don't trust me.'

'I-' he cut himself off, as if he were a pot about to bubble over before slamming the lid back down. 'I just don't understand why you thought I'd never find out he was here. Surely you knew this would hurt me-'

' _Hurt_? Do you really think with all the shit going on that I'd purposely go out of my way to upset you?'

'It's not about whether you intended to or not.'

'Well then what is it about?'

'It's about the fact that you _did_!'

I flinched, my back straightening as his sharp, loud voice caught me off guard. Inside I was willing myself to stay composed, but I'd never taken kindly to being shouted at - it made me want to run, to turn around and get as far away as possible.

'Okay,' I said calmly. 'You know what, I don't want to be here anymore.' I grabbed my jacket from the peg and reached for the front door.

'Where are you going?'

'Home.'

He stepped towards me, reaching out and placing his hand on the door. 'Adrian...'

I looked up at him. 'I was _so_ looking forward to seeing you,' I said, before trying to walk out again.

'Don't leave,' he said, his voice laced with panic as he put himself between me and the door.

I took a step back and inhaled deeply. 'Ben, I know you're not doing it on purpose, but I get very _panicky_ when people try to stop me from leaving a room. It brings back some really shitty memories.'

He stepped away immediately, raising his hands in surrender. 'I'm sorry, I didn't consider that. Really, I'm sorry.'

'It's fine.'

I reached for the handle and turned it until the door clicked open. He stayed back, keeping his distance, a look of guilt on his face for frightening me.

'You don't have to go,' he said.

I looked up at him, my fingers still wrapped around the handle. 'I didn't care about people seeing me with Matt; I didn't care about them writing stupid rumours in the papers, thinking we're back together or whatever bullshit they wanted to fabricate, because I know there's no actual relationship there.' My eyes were watering. I cleared my throat to hide the waver in my voice. 'But us... this... I am _terrified_ of this relationship going public before we're ready. Because when it does, it's public property, and I am so scared of this being ruined by other people.'

He exhaled, looking down at me remorsefully as I finally began to cry.

'I needed to keep this safe, at all costs,' I said. 'I don't care if the media makes up lies about my relationship with Matt, because there's no relationship to spoil. But if they tainted you and I... that would devastate me.'

'I'm sorry,' he said quietly. 'Please don't cry, I never wanted to make you cry.'

'I've been crying all day, I'm used to it now.'

'Why?'

I rolled my eyes and wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand. 'Well I lost the Marvel job; they couldn't hold off any longer so they've gone with another actress. Meanwhile, I have one sister lying on a ward and another telling me it's _my_ fault because I didn't check up on her enough. So forgive me, for not wanting to stick around while my boyfriend berates me for accepting help from a friend.'

He sighed, as if the realisation of his terribly timed outburst had finally dawned on him. He eyed my hand, my knuckles turning white as I clung to the door handle.

'Can I hug you?' he asked softly.

I stayed silent for a long time, staring through the sliver in the open door to the street outside. My breath was catching in my throat as I sobbed quietly, before finally dropping my head and nodding.

Without another word, he approached me swiftly, enveloping me in his arms and pulling me close to his chest.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, resting his chin on top of my head. 'I was out of order, I'm sorry.'

He closed the door with his foot and stroked my hair, whispering gently to me as I continued to cry.


End file.
